The Agent Versus the Bartender
by Steampunk.Chuckster
Summary: A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah.
1. Chapter 1

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary: **A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**Author's Note: **The goal is to get all of this out by Christmas GOOD LUCK TO ME! Multiple chapters so look out.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

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She came in that first time after a drunk UCLA frat boy spilled a full glass of beer all over his bar counter. It got on the ice maker, sticky beer dripping all down the sides of the machine and onto the floor. The guy had been sincerely apologetic and even helped mop it up, but when he became more of a hindrance than a help, he'd gently ushered him out from behind the bar, accepted the extra big tip, and finished the job himself while John came out to cover for him with customers.

John had patted him on the shoulder, going back to his office—most likely to finish watching an episode of The Bachelor or something like that—when she seemed to almost appear out of the blue.

After five years of working at this place, he'd gotten really good at observation, paying attention to his bar and the clientele. He had a sixth sense and always knew when someone sidled up to his counter and sat down on one of his stools.

So he felt her presence there, all the way down at the far end of the bar, right on the corner, her back to the wall. He felt her sidle up to his bar and sit down.

And he glanced over his shoulder to eye the newcomer as he charged a tab to another customer's card.

Pretty women came into his bar nearly every single night, sometimes with their friends, or their date…and sometimes alone, like she seemed to be. This downtown Los Angeles location brought in a wide variety of clientele. And he'd seen it all, including celebrities. So it didn't particularly startle him to see a beautiful blonde sitting at his bar.

He handed the customer's card back and thanked him, then checked his watch. Three hours 'til closing time, he thought to himself. He just had to last for four more hours and then he could go home and pass out. Until tomorrow. When he'd have to wake up and don his Nerd Herd uniform to go work a six hour shift at the Buy More.

Shaking that dismal thought off, he moved across the floor he'd just mopped for the second time tonight and stopped in front of the newcomer. "Hi. Welcome. What can I get ya?"

Her eyes lifted from the bar and fastened on his. Even in the low lighting over here at the corner of the bar, he was a little startled by just how blue they were. Maybe he did see a lot of beautiful women while tending this bar, but he was only human. And he suddenly found himself having to fight to keep from showing he was a little stunned by how striking she was.

"Uh…" She bit her lip. "What's the strongest thing you have?"

"We have an extremely earthy merlot." She sent him a look, her eyes narrowed, and his smile died. He cleared his throat. "Sorry. Bad joke. We have this rum back here that we literally have to keep away from anything that has the potential to catch fire because it's insanely flammable and I'm not sure the owner bought insurance that would properly compensate him for losses."

"God, give me that. Please."

He raised his eyebrows, then shrugged and nodded. "All right."

"Thank you," she muttered, and he couldn't help sending a subtle glance down the bar at her as he grabbed the glass and the rum. He learned pretty early on not to get involved in whatever shit his customers brought into Casey's. He didn't ask. He just let them talk if they needed to. John was clear after the first few times he nearly got himself into trouble with customers who thought he was more interested in them than he was. John had brought him into his office and said, "They want you to be their own personal shrink. You wanna do that? That's your business. But never ever let them pull you into their drama. Put some distance there. You listen, you let them move on. Trust me, kid."

But as he came back to the blond woman, recognizing the well-veiled but still visible misery on her pretty features, her brow furrowed over those blue eyes that had rocked him back a moment earlier, he wanted to ask if she'd had a hard day. Something about her made him feel like he wanted to reach out, provide some form of...comfort. If only for the few minutes she sat here before she moved on again.

He didn't say anything, except for his usual, "here you are" as he set down the glass and poured it for her.

When he began to pull the bottle back, she reached up, almost like she was going to touch his arm, but she stopped halfway there with a quiet, "Wait. More. Please. I'll pay for it."

He wasn't worried about that. But he didn't say it. Instead, he nodded and poured more. "Tell me when."

She let him pour quite a bit into the glass before she held up her hand again. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Not a problem." She thrust a card out at him that she'd pulled from somewhere in her purse. "Close the tab, or…?"

"No, don't close it."

She didn't offer him any sort of explanation. She didn't say anything else. She just slowly pulled the drink over to her and stared down into it, turning the glass in her fingers slowly, methodically. He plugged the drink in on her tab and went back to helping other customers. But he couldn't help glancing over here and there. The rum line lowered each time he snuck a peek, until it was finally empty.

It had gone fast, he thought to himself. And he couldn't stop himself from wondering. He tried not to wonder with customers. He tried not to pry into their business. But he'd always had an overactive imagination, and when you were a bartender, it was so easy to concoct wild stories about the people you served. Who they were, what they did, why they were there, what was making them drink…?

He took a deep breath and wandered over to her. Her eyes were still clear in spite of what she'd just imbibed. But she was still playing with her glass, her chin resting on her palm, elbow propped on the bar. "Hey, you still good?" he asked, and she lifted her gaze to his again, letting him have a small smile. "Need anything else?"

"Where do I start?"

She said it under her breath, as though she hadn't meant for him to hear it, but he'd heard it.

"Start anywhere you'd like," he said, giving her a bit of an understanding look. Her eyebrows went up a little as she actually seemed to look at him for the first time. He cleared his throat and pat the bar with his fingers. "I'll give you a drink menu, if you'd like. Give you some guidance."

He could see intelligence brimming in her eyes, in the knowing look on her face, the slight upward tilt to her lips. She saw right through his attempt at a save. But she let him have it. "Yeah. That'd be good. Helpful. Thanks."

"No problem." He reached down and snagged one from the holder, sliding it in front of her. "The back is the wine list, but...you don't...I mean, here's the harder stuff." He tapped the side he'd faced up.

"Thanks." He smiled at her, but before he could move away, she spoke up again. "I must come across as some sort of hardcore drunk…"

He paused, then shook his head, propping both of his palms on the bar and leaning in a little. "I try not to pay attention to that. Or judge people. I'm a bartender. I like people who drink."

She sniffed in amusement, her shoulders bouncing, and she looked down at the menu, pointing to her glass. "In that case, can I just get another one of these? Same amount. I am hardcore. But not a drunk."

He nodded emphatically. "Well! I try not to pay attention, but the fact that you're still clear-eyed after the first one I poured you tells me you're a little more than just hardcore." She sent him a curious look. "You're kind of a bad ass."

Grinning at the slightly wider smile she gave him, he grabbed her bottle, as he saw it as hers now without even realizing it, and he poured more.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." He wanted to say "be careful" or something less condescending than that. But then he realized anything similar to that would be condescending, too. So he just left it at that and moved away again.

He cleared most of the bar after another fifteen minutes and moved back in front of her to find she'd nearly gotten to the last finger of the rum in her second glass. She was staring at the stack of bottles behind the bar, but she wasn't really looking at them. She was just staring, her eyes still clear, but she was lost in her head. He knew the look well after five years of tending this bar four nights a week.

When she realized he was there, she shook herself a bit and sent him a weak, momentary, polite smile. "I think I'm good for now with this. I'm…starting to feel it. Which was the goal."

"It's going to take a few for it to actually kick in, so…" He cleared his throat, realizing he was about to do the condescending thing.

"Does your boss know you're out here giving drinking lessons?"

He winced and chuckled. "Touché."

She smiled a little and finished the drink, setting it down. "I didn't mean for that to sound as biting as it did."

"It wasn't biting. It was fair."

"It was both maybe?" She winced and tilted the empty glass to the side before tilting it back again, then tilted it to the other side and repeated the process. He figured she was done talking and decided to move away… wipe down the bar maybe, or clean something… but she spoke up again before he could. "You have sidecars here?"

"I can make a wicked sidecar, yup," he said, crossing his arms.

She furrowed her brow at him, and he thought he saw the vestiges of a buzz in her eyes now. The clearness was less apparent. "What makes it wicked?"

"Um." She caught him off-guard. He squinted at her thoughtfully and pursed his lips. "A little on the stronger side, I'm not gonna lie. But all of my mixed drinks tend to come out a bit stronger."

"You must be a popular bartender around here," she said, lifting an eyebrow.

"I do okay." He shrugged. "Sidecar?"

"Sidecar," she said, nodding emphatically.

He knew it wasn't good for business for him to discourage drinking, but he knew the drinking she'd already done was going to catch up with her. And here she was ordering more. But then he also didn't really know what was up with this woman. Had something happened? Had she lost a job? Did she go through a bad break-up? Did somebody die? A fight with a friend?

He hated himself a little for actually looking at the fingers of her left hand when he passed over a sidecar, still sticking the orange rind on the rim of the glass as he did so. There was no ring, and no evidence of there ever having been a ring. But it was the twenty-first century and not everyone did things the same way folks used to. It didn't mean anything.

He needed to cool his jets with his curiosity about her. It felt a little disrespectful. And yet…

She fascinated him.

"Hey, pal! There are other people who want drinks." He glanced down the bar to see a man in his late thirties or so waving his hand obnoxiously, as if he was checking to see if he was invisible or not. "She's cute and all but I'm pretty sure that's not in your job description, is it?"

The customer muttered a frustrated "Jesus" to himself and turned to his similarly dressed business associates or friends, whichever they were, with a _Can you believe this?_ shrug.

Sighing, used to this sort of customer—way too used to this sort of customer—he turned to the woman with a quiet, "Excuse me", and moved away from her as she sent him an equally quiet and understanding smile.

"What can I get for you, sir?"

"Uh, maybe a better watch." The guy tapped the face of the watch around his wrist. "Because this watch is tellin' me I've been standing here waiting for you for about three minutes while you flirted and that can't be right. No serious establishment would have a bartender who takes that long to help his customers."

"I'm afraid we don't sell watches here at Casey's Bar, sir, but I'd be happy to provide you with an alcoholic beverage."

The guy reared back a little at Chuck's calm and collected response, then let out a chuckle in disbelief. "Funny guy. I like that. I'll make sure to include that in my Yelp review."

"Oh! Thank you, sir. Can I make you anything?"

"Just get us a couple of shots of Patrón," the guy groused.

"How many is a couple, sir?"

"How many of us do you see here, smart ass?"

The bartender tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. He wasn't going to dignify the asshole with the response he was obviously looking for. The privilege and entitlement was seeping out of him. He'd come out tonight looking for trouble, most likely. Or he was trying to prove to his little friends that he could swing his dick around with the best of them. It wasn't worth getting defensive or upset over. It wasn't worth reacting to it. Come tomorrow, this guy wouldn't even exist in his memory.

"I see six of you, but I ask because sometimes people want more than one shot at a time."

"Oh, aren't you thoughtful!" He patted the bar counter condescendingly. "Just one each for now, slim jim. We'll be over there in the corner at the booth. Hurry it along, huh?"

He watched them go, their laughter burning in his ears. He was only human, and he couldn't help wanting to jump the bar and tackle the little douchebag.

But he knew exactly how that would go down with cops, so instead, he turned on his heels and got six shot glasses out. God, he wanted to spit in them. But the woman was at the bar still and she'd see. They also had cameras in here, and Joh\n might see footage of him spitting in shot glasses, and...well, he really needed this job to continue living in his own apartment without roommates.

He poured the Patrón shots, set them on a tray, and brought them out to the douche table, distributing them and ignoring the barbs sent his way. He just had to keep thinking _Not worth it, not worth it, not worth it…_

As he came back to start a tab for the table, he saw that she was sipping the sidecar a lot more slowly. He ambled over again and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little tentative. "Do you want a glass of ice water or anything?"

She glanced up at him and sniffed with a slight smirk. "Why? Do I seem like I need one?"

"No," he said with a shrug.

She lowered her gaze again and took another sip, her tongue darting out to taste her lips. "I just want to be drunk."

He watched her for a few seconds and then nodded. "I think that's fair."

"Oh, thanks." She did that sardonic sniff again and sighed, leaning forward with her elbows on the bar top and shaking her head. "You ever been at...at a crossroads...and instead of actually doing the adult thing and sitting down, making pros and cons lists, really thinking about it, you just want to flood yourself with alcohol 'til you're numb?"

"You have no idea."

She eyed him then, raising an eyebrow. "I don't?"

"I dunno. Maybe you do. I'm not gonna pretend I know why you're here. I don't know what made you feel like you wanna be drunk, I mean."

She smirked. "You have a refreshing way of talking to people."

"Do I?" he asked, tilting his head.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Honesty."

"Honesty is refreshing?" He raised his eyebrows.

She smiled and shrugged. "Are you all right with me getting drunk? I think it'd be for the best that I end up drunk. Do you mind?" For a moment, he thought he saw something in her eyes, like they were almost welling up. It was just a split second before she blinked and the potential of tears was stifled.

Why had she needed to come here to get drunk? Was it something that terrible? Could he help her somehow?

"I don't mind, and I'm not just saying that as the guy who'll be taking your money as you seek to achieve your goal." He paused awkwardly. "Your goal of getting drunk." He cleared his throat as she just stared at him. "I don't know why you're here but I trust you have a good enough reason."

"Do I need one?"

He winced. "I should probably go clean something so I stop putting my foot into my mouth."

"I'm just so tired."

The bartender froze. The thread of teasing was gone from her features, and she just stared glumly down at her drink. He was afraid to say anything so he just waited patiently, and watched.

She shook her head. "I'm tired. I feel like I never get to rest, even when I'm resting. It's all just...there." She tapped her temple. "It's always there. But I know that even if I stop...if I stop, it'll stay. The shit. It's gonna still be there." She slurred one of her words but picked it up again, her eyes getting a tad foggy. "I...don't know what to do."

"Hey, barkeep!"

He shook himself away from the long look he was giving her and glanced over her head towards the table. The Head Douche was waving his arm at him, his friends doing the stereotypical mob mentality douchebag laugh. "Barkeep!" he called again. "We need more drinks!"

"You want another drink?" he asked her quietly then as she glanced over her shoulder and glared at the group behind her. She turned back and blinked up at him.

"In a bit, but if you don't bring that asshole a drink, he might cry and nobody wants to see that," she grumbled.

That made him chuckle. He liked her. "All right, I'll be right back. You think about what you wanna drink."

As he moved around the bar, he could feel her piercing gaze on him, and he sought to keep his cool, as if he couldn't feel it, as if he had no idea she was staring. "What can I get you fellas?" he asked as he came up to the table.

"Oh, you're here finally."

"I am. What can I get ya?"

The fact that he wasn't getting ruffled was most likely making it less fun for them, so they gave him their orders and he moved away again, slipping behind the bar to line up the various glasses for their drinks.

"Did you come here to try to figure out what to do?" he asked her as he poured. He saw her shift uncomfortably in his peripheral and silently kicked himself. He should've just left it, let her say what she wanted without prompting.

But then she answered. "Maybe. I dunno why I came in here. That's a lie. Yes, I do. I really just came to get drunk."

He let out a quiet huff and smiled at her. "I appreciate your honesty."

"I'm an honest gal," she drawled, and then she made a face. "That's also a lie. My whole life is a lie."

The bartender let out a low whistle. "That seems a bit harsh." When she gave him a flat look, he shrugged. "I know, I know. I don't know you. But that still sounded harsh."

"Just know that it isn't. It all just...came to me. And now I'm here. Trying to get drunk."

"Trying to get drunk, but not trying to seek answers just yet. Or figure out what to do. Got ya."

That made her smirk. He was finished with the drinks, but he didn't want to take them over to the table just yet. He wanted to stay here and listen to what she had to say. No, what he really wanted was to sit down and talk with her. As long as she was willing to talk, he wanted to listen. So he pretended he was still working on the douche table drinks, little touch-ups, garnishes…

"Do people typically leave this bar having figured their shit out? Coming in for answers and leaving with them?" The look on her face and the tone in her voice made it clear she was dubious.

"I honestly can't tell you. Probably not is my guess. They probably just leave buzzed or drunk and sleep it off only to find they're in the exact same place as they were before they walked in. But I don't know for sure. It's usually so busy I'm running around here like a chicken with its head cut off." He grinned at her and she looked at him for a long time, finally throwing back the rest of her drink.

"So what's so different about tonight? It's just me and that cluster of crapfaces in here." She threw her thumb over her shoulder, making him laugh. She looked almost pleased when he laughed.

"You came on a slow night, I guess. They happen here and there."

"That's good," she muttered. "Between us, I don't like people."

The bartender narrowed his eyes and gave her a doubtful look. "I'm not sure that's true."

She looked up at him, seeming like she wasn't sure if she should be annoyed or not. "What do you mean? I just told you it's true. I don't like people."

He shrugged. "If you really didn't like people, you wouldn't have come to a bar. A very public place that usually has a lot of people around. You would've stayed home and drowned your sorrows alone, like a people-hater would. Instead you sought an atmosphere with lots of people...and now you're sitting at my bar drinking my sidecar and talking to me."

She half-glared at him. "I'm not sure I like the way you talk to me. Not to mention, my sidecar is empty."

"Give me a second to bring the cluster of crapfaces their meds and I'll be back to mix whatever you want."

She snorted and nodded.

He took the tray of drinks back to the table and they were luckily immersed enough in their conversation that they left him alone so that he could just hasten back to her side, leaning his forearms on the bar and quietly looking at her, expectantly.

She tilted her head. "What's like a sidecar but stronger?" she finally asked.

"A bitch seat."

She threw her head back and laughed. "Is that a real drink?"

"Not yet, but I can make something up for you," he chuckled.

"I like that. Do your worst." He clapped his hands together and rubbed them in excitement, sticking his tongue out in concentration. He began gathering things, grabbing a new glass. "And thank you for making me laugh."

He turned back to her and lowered his arms to his side. He wasn't expecting that. He just smiled warmly.

"Definitely didn't expect to laugh tonight. Get drunk? Yes. Laugh? Definitely not."

"I sneak up on people," he joked, brushing his shoulder off with the backs of his fingers.

"I can see that," she said, just as warmly. Then she seemed to almost realize what she'd said, that she was staring at him, and she dropped her gaze to her empty glass. He went back to concocting, flying by the seat of his pants.

And he wasn't going to tell her what he was doing, because he knew he was probably being a bit presumptuous...but he definitely didn't make it as strong as she probably wanted it to be. He couldn't help feeling some sense of wanting to protect her, fix things. He felt icky just thinking that. And yet he thought it anyway.

"Here," he said finally, putting the glass in front of her. "Just taste it. If it's awful, I'll try again. Just be honest with me."

"If you dump a drink, do they take it off your paycheck?" she asked him. The fact that she cared made him grin a little.

"No. Don't worry about that. Just try the drink."

She gave him a look, but picked it up and tasted it. "Mm. I like that acid bite to it. And the silky aftertaste." Then she propped her chin in her palm, looking up at him. "Part of me wants to ask what you put in this. But a bigger part of me wants to just...not know. And enjoy."

"Living dangerously. I like that."

He couldn't read the look on her face. "Yeah, well...sometimes you gotta go big or go home. Or something. I don't fuggin' know." She dropped her chin and rubbed her temple, dismissively waving her other hand off to the side.

Letting out a quiet snort, he grabbed a damp towel and started wiping things down. "Sometimes it's easier to just go with the flow."

"Quite a life motto there, barkeep," she teased, and he shared an amused look with her.

"I know, right? I could probably run for political office on it. Sometimes it's easier to just go with the flow. Vote for Chuck."

She giggled, sipping the 'bitch seat' he'd made for her. "So that's your name."

"Mhm. Sorry. I'm sure you were expecting something way more dignified. Like Alastair."

She laughed this time, shaking her head. "Uh, no. Not quite that dignified. You are a bartender, after all." His jaw dropped as she grinned cheekily. He could see she was absolutely buzzed now, loosening up a lot more.

"That's classist."

She laughed again. "Chuck's an interesting name."

"Is it?" he asked, his voice high-pitched with doubt. "What can I say, my parents were sadists."

Her laughter had some bubble to it and he wanted to prop his elbows on the bar top, his chin in his hands, and just stare at her for hours. She sobered up a little, though only in one way, and swirled her drink gently, pushing a hand through her long, blond hair distractedly. "Do you really believe that? I mean, the going with the flow...thing."

"Uh...I don't know how to answer that. It isn't really how I think people should live, it's just...how I live. It's how I survive."

She nodded slowly. "Don't like to stir things up, huh?"

"Just drinks!" he chirped, and she giggled, her eyes bright and glassy. "Why? You a stirrer upper?"

"Oh, hell no." She stared off to the side. "I follow orders." She seemed to almost startle a bit and she cleared her throat, shaking her head. "I mean, I do what I have to do. Usually. I mean, I have for so long. And then for-for once I did...something different. And I guess that's why I'm here."

"So you switched it up and it...didn't go well?" he tried, deciding to screw the whole concept of trying to look busy and instead just leaning his hip against the bar to talk to her.

Was it not a significant other then? Or was it? Damn, he couldn't tell.

"I guess you could say that."

"And now you're here trying to feel better."

"No." She pointed at him...or well, she was getting drunk now so it was less at him than in his general direction. "I'm getting drunk. How many times do I have to say it for you to get it through your Son of Sadists head?"

That made him laugh. And he sobered up at her faux glare and cleared his throat, holding his hands up by his shoulders in surrender. "Sorry. Sorry, you're right. You're just here to get wasted."

"No, not that. Not wasted, jus' drunk."

"I, uh...have news for ya. If you are looking for 'just drunk', you sort of passed that with what you've had to drink so far. Remember, I make my drinks stronger than most bartenders."

"I thought I made it clear I don't need you…regulating my drink conzumjun…"

He bowed deeply at the waist. "Yes, you did. Very sorry."

She giggled. The smile slowly dimmed then and she glanced up at him. "I don't regret it," she said then, propping her face on her palm so that it squished her cheek a little, muffling her voice. "I don't regret what brought me here. For the record. But I feel...empty."

He was brimming with curiosity, but instead of asking questions, he leaned a little closer. "I'm sorry. That's not a good feeling."

"Iz the worszt feeling," she said, definitely starting to slur a little. It wasn't super noticeable, and he thought others might not notice it. But...well, he was a bartender. He regularly watched the way people went through the different stages of drunkenness. She was getting drunk, just like she wanted. "Or not the worszt feeling. The actual worszt feeling is wondering if I wasted time. Wondering if I wasted...a lot of time...if I gave myself to the wrong thing. Did I have a choice though? I d'know. I just don't. What if—What if all this was the wrong thing? You know what I mean? What if I did the wrong thing? Not this last thing I did, but-but the years of doing...what I was doing."

He was so confused. So damn confused. But he just nodded supportively. "I guess that's something you'll have to come to terms with…" He paused. "Tomorrow. After you wake up. Probably with a hangover."

"I don't care about the hangover. I don't." She shook her head.

"That's good, I guess. But I suppose I'm just wondering if you aren't just being hard on yourself because you're having...intense...feelings right now. Emotions." He shrugged as she gave him a searching look. "Listen, I've been through shit too. And when I've been in the throes of the...aftermath, I guess I've had a tendency to...throw myself under the bus. Whether it was right or wrong, uh...well, it depends on the situation." He gave her a self-deprecating smile that she seemed to appreciate. "But you have to go easy on yourself here. I mean, get drunk. Go crazy on the bitch seat." She snorted and giggled, and he grinned warmly at her. "But try not to be so eager to throw yourself under a bus." He paused then, and he thought maybe he was a little out of line, and most definitely out of his depth with this intriguing woman. But he asked anyway. "What's your name? If you don't mind me asking."

Her blue eyes didn't exactly clear, per se, but they were a little more alert as she lifted her gaze to his, looking rather startled. Then she glanced to the side, almost as if she was thinking it over. And then she said, so very softly, "Sarah. It's Sarah." She took a long gulp of her drink, wincing as it went down.

"Sarah," he said quietly with a nod. And then he stuck his hand out towards her. She hesitated for a second, but then she took it. "You're gonna be okay, Sarah. Know how I know that?"

"How?" she asked, still holding on, meeting his gaze.

"You have heaps more control and brains than, like, ninety percent of the people who come through this bar. You're thoughtful," he said, tapping his temple. "You think about things. And I can tell you care."

"I...care?" She looked confused. "About what?"

He was absolutely crossing the line, and he braced himself for the repercussions. "About virtually everything else but...yourself. I can see it." She looked annoyed, and he didn't know if it was with him. He'd deserve it if so. "Sorry. I shouldn't say that to you. I don't know you. I'm just...observant. I don't know why you're so hard on yourself, or why you seem to put yourself beneath everything else, everyone else, but I relate to it super hard. I learned that's what I do too… in therapy." He made a little cuckoo sound and flicked himself in the temple, making the corner of her mouth turn up.

"There's nothing wrong with therapy," she said. "I think you're smart and brave for saying it out loud. Maybe I need it," she said wryly, raising her eyebrows and looking down shyly again.

"I don't know what you need except what you told me: to get drunk. Just. Drunk." He smiled as she smirked up at him, blowing a bit of hair out of her face. It was cute. "But try to care about yourself a bit more. Give yourself the benefit of the doubt. Whatever brought you in here, whatever's making you wanna be numb as you said, deal with it. But...I dunno, be nicer to yourself. I've only known you for…" He looked at his watch. "Two and a half hours. But...I'm pretty confident you deserve a little niceness."

Her features were soft as she looked up at him and sighed. And a slow smile grew on her exceptionally beautiful face. "I feel like you're filling the niceness quota. Does...does 'at make any sense? I don't know if my mouth is working right anymore."

"It is," he said emphatically. "And I don't believe in a quota where niceness is concerned."

"You don't?"

"Nope. The sky's the limit. So be nice to yourself, for God's sake."

"You realize you're saying all this to me knowing absolutely nothing at all about me except my name and that I'm pretty good at holding this stuff." She held up her glass, still half of the drink left.

"You've got a mighty fine grip there, Sarah."

She let out one of those bubbly giggles and shook her head at him, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I do feel drunk. But I'm not feeling messy. Shit, am I being messy?" she asked, looking at him, startled.

"Not at all. You're a very neat drunk if this is you drunk."

"See, you're just doing your sky's the limit niceness thing, Chuck." He liked how she emphasized the 'ck' at the end of his name, and the way she wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. "I am messy. My life is messy. And then it isn't." She frowned. "Everything...Everything's so...I d'know. Lined up. In a row. Controlled and plotted. It's...easy in that way. But like a row of dominoes, all it takes is...one thing. One little thing, or-or a big thing. And the dominoes just...brrrrrrrrrrip." She mimicked dominoes falling over, swiping her hand over the bar. Even then, she didn't knock her drink over or spill it the way someone else might've. She was still very aware and controlled in her movements. Graceful. It was the weirdest damn thing.

"Hey! Can we close our tab?"

The Cluster (trademark) were getting up from their table and the Head Douche was waving to Chuck.

He nodded and moved away from Sarah, closing up the tab. As he turned back around to hand the card back, he saw that they'd all sidled up to the bar, waiting.

"Really wish our bartender had done a better job, though. Nobody else in the place and he spent all his time and efforts on the hot chick. Typical," Head Douche snarked, smirking with no small amount of smarminess.

"Sorry you feel that way," Chuck said, idly flipping an extra pen he'd kept in his pocket as Head Douche filled out the receipt.

"You should be. 'Cause you lost out on a pretty big tip, my guy." He slowly slipped the receipt back towards Chuck over the bar as his friends let out a couple of chuckles and 'ooooooooo's as if the guy being a complete asshole somehow reflected worse on Chuck than it did on him.

"Are you serious?"

The room went still and Chuck turned with wide eyes to watch as Sarah just calmly sat off to the side, one hand curled around her drink, the other still propping her head up, elbow on the bar top.

You could hear a pin drop.

"Did they not leave you a tip?" she asked, swinging her gaze to him. He shrugged and glanced over at the empty tip line. Then he shook his head no. "So, like...what. Did you just come in here looking to be a dickface? Or…?" She thrust out a hand in something of a shrug. "Because usually people go to bars to get a few drinks and then they leave after. But it really seems like you came here with the express purpose of being a fuggin' asshole."

"Is it any of your business?" the Head Douche asked once he found his tongue.

"No, I'm just tired of hearing your shit and my own personal exhaustion is very much my business."

"I don't have to hear this from you…"

Not that Chuck expected he'd try anything with the woman at the bar, but the second Head Douche took a step closer, he put an immediate stop to it, reaching over the bar and stretching his arm out for the man to walk into it, stopping his progression. "Look, you can treat me like crap. I don't care, dude. But leave her out of it."

"You're really looking to get bombed on Yelp, pal."

"Oh, who gives a flying fuck about Yelp?" Sarah groused. "Why are you such a loser? Just go before I have to throat punch you. Seriously."

The guy's friends pulled him out of there…wisely. Because something told him Sarah could throat punch the guy and all of his friends, and end up without even a scratch on her. She just...carried herself that way. Which was why he was so confused about the other vibe he got from her—that she wasn't happy with herself. She exuded confidence, but it wasn't...self-esteem. He couldn't figure it out. He couldn't figure _her_ out.

But those guys were gone and it was just the two of them now, and the bar was closing in a half hour anyway. And he didn't want to close.

"My hero," he joked, crossing his arms.

"Ugh, I didn't do it for you. I was just tired of hearing his stupid voice saying stupid things," she said, smirking at him. Was she blushing? A little? He thought she might be. "Do you have to deal with that shit often?"

"Honestly? No, not really. Though people like that are always shit tippers. I can see 'em a mile away and it sucks 'cause I still have to treat 'em the same as everyone else."

"That's bull. Spit in their drinks." He laughed and she smiled, looking a little proud. But then she cast her eyes off to the side and took a deep breath. "It's late...an' this is starting to hit me. So I'm gonna...get outta here I guess."

No, no, no. No. Why? Why why why? "Why?"

He realized as she furrowed her brow at him, the beginnings of a smile on her lips, that he'd just said that out loud. "I-I mean, you don't have t—Well, we don't close 'til two-thirty. So you're good to be here for a little longer. I can get you some water and you can...guzzle it. Before you go."

"You tryin' to get me to buy more drinks?"

"The water's free."

She sniffed, but the amusement wasn't as blatant as it had been.

"Did you drive here? Let me call you a cab. Please," he said, trying not to sound desperate as she slowly eased off of the stool to her feet and stood at her full height. She was tall, probably wearing heels though, but even without them she'd be tall. And she wasn't super steady on her feet, but still...God, her gracefulness…

"I didn't—didn't drive, no. I can just get a cab. S'okay."

"Let me. I'll just close your tab and I'll call a taxi. You can...wait for it here. In here."

"What, with you?" she asked, and he saw a hint of flirtation there. That was why he wanted her to stay.

"Just...not out there."

"Think the Cluster of Crapfaces'll be waiting to jump me when I get out there? I'll fuck 'em up," she said. The drinks were really hitting her. He hurriedly closed her tab and brought the receipts to her. "Oh, right. I should pay af'er the trouble I caused you."

He shook his head as she wrote, but she didn't see it so he clamped a gentle hand down on her wrist. Her blazer rode up a bit so that he felt her skin under his fingers and palm, and he shivered at the contact. She swept wide blue eyes up to meet his brown ones. "You weren't trouble. Not even a little bit. This was...exactly the breath of fresh air I needed. To get through my week."

She just looked at him, eyes glassy but steady. "Did I interrupt your flow you were...going with?"

"Big time," he drawled, grinning.

She grinned back. "Good." Then she looked down at her watch, pulling her arm out from under his hand. She paused, looked at him, and then smiled quietly, starting to leave.

"Wait, wait...Let me at least…" He didn't mean to be so desperate and anxious. He just didn't want her to go. This was awful. How had two and a half hours done this to him?

But he guided her out to the street and fumbled with his cell. Yeah, he was leaving the bar unattended. Yeah, he might get in trouble for it. But John wouldn't even know. And he could just say he didn't want anything happening to her.

Quite by luck, a taxi was making its way down the street towards them, and he stepped one foot out into the street and held up an arm, yelling, "Taxi!"

Sarah giggled as he came back up onto the curb, the taxi sweeping in to park in front of them. "That was very New York of you."

"I wouldn't know," he admitted. "Never been." He opened the back door of the taxi and held it for her, just staring silently.

She looked in the cab, shifting her purse on her shoulder, and then she turned to look up at him. "You let those guys treat you like shit but wouldn't let them come at me. You said you didn't care what they did to you. Maybe you should take your own advice and be nicer to yourself too, Chuck."

He smiled at her. "Maybe we're just two peas in a pod."

Her smile back was almost sad, an intense amount of meaning in her eyes—though he had no idea what the meaning was. And she put a hand on his chest, so gently that he barely felt it...a feather's touch. "We're not. If I could be so lucky…" She pat his chest once. "G'night. And...thank you. Thank you."

She swung into the taxi and he carefully shut the door after her, watching as it pulled away from the curb and moved down the street. He stood there watching it until it disappeared.

* * *

**A/N: **Chapter 2 is coming as soon as I can get it out! Please review. I don't know folks are reading unless y'all tell me. Thank you!

-SC


	2. Chapter 2

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary:** A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**A/N:** You folks humble me. Seriously. I was out and about all day yesterday and came home and checked my email and it was full of reviews and follows and favorites. I'm sorry I was gone for so long; I missed writing so much. But I had to try to save the world for a few months. I failed at that, but I'm still here and ready to dive into this again. I'm seriously serious about trying to get this out for Christmas, and if not that, then by the New Year.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

* * *

She was benched.

She'd known something like that might happen after she rescued the child and absconded with her, disappeared for a few days, went off the grid. And when Graham tried to put her on the hot seat to find out where the baby ended up, he'd been surprisingly accepting of the fact that she didn't tell him. Eventually. He told her he understood that Ryker had really shaken the foundations of her trust in all of them, including him.

But she was still benched, suspended to a desk in a clandestine Los Angeles branch office the CIA kept for when agents in the field needed fixers. She'd been benched enough that she wasn't even allowed to go into the field for fixing. She just..._advised_ the fixing operations. Like a glorified analyst babysitter.

He'd had to, Graham told her. Even if he didn't want to. But, he'd also admitted he was worried about where her head was at. And maybe she needed a few months to take a break, work some things out, let everything that happened settle. It was even-handed enough that she still wasn't certain there wasn't some sort of catch to it.

It wasn't like the CIA.

But when she'd thought about it the last few days sitting at this stupid desk in this stupid room with its stupid four walls, she realized the fact that they hadn't arrested her or kicked her out of the CIA for good was just a symptom of Graham and his superiors knowing they needed her. And not just that, but they needed her at her very best.

It said a lot about how much Ryker trying to murder that child, trying to get her to help him murder that child, had shaken her to her core that Graham recognized something was very wrong when she finally came back to Langley to face her punishment, no baby in hand. They had to know she wouldn't be operating at her full capacity if they didn't give her some separation. It had gotten too dark, she'd gotten too deep in the darkness...and it had nearly broken her.

She still felt that swirling disillusion and bewilderment that she'd stuck around in the CIA long enough to get to where she was now. Getting drunk at a bar to the point where she hadn't woken up the next day until after one in the afternoon, and even then, her head felt like someone stuck a pickaxe in it, hadn't fixed anything. She could never see her mom again if she wanted that baby to stay safe, if she wanted her to grow up and have a normal life. The life Sarah should've had...could've had. If she had just made the right decision, if she hadn't let herself slip into a sense of bitterness towards her mom.

And now that door was closed. And she wanted to go get numbingly drunk again.

But that didn't solve anything. Going to the bar...it had done nothing but make her more disillusioned. With everything. And yet...not everything. She was maybe a little less disillusioned with herself, wasn't she?

Because the man behind the bar had said some things, without even knowing her or knowing anything about her, that had felt so sincere and his words had rung so true, and in spite of the alcohol she'd imbibed that night, she'd been unable to get a lot of it out of her head. It was stuck in there, perhaps permanently.

He made her feel good in a way nobody had made her feel good ever before. She'd had men make her feel good in bed, but it was such a trivial and unimportant part of her existence and had done nothing except give her immediate gratification that was extremely short-lived. But that bartender...he'd made her think. That maybe she hadn't had a choice all these years...a little over eight years now that she'd been with the CIA. Maybe Graham and others had penned her in, locked her in a box, only to take her out to use her for specific jobs, grisly jobs they said only she could do. Because she followed orders, didn't she?

Until a week ago, she'd followed orders. That was the first time in her career here at the CIA that she hadn't followed orders, even including at the Farm. She'd done what she felt was the right thing to do. Then she'd gotten drunk and spilled her guts to a bartender who was more than simply kind. He was like...a little spot of steadiness in a lifetime of uncertainty. He didn't know her but he was sure she deserved kindness. He didn't pry for more than she'd rambled in her buzzed state. He worked with what she gave him and he brought her in close without even touching her, invading her space. He'd invaded her mind, though. And hadn't gotten out of it for a week.

Like there'd been a switch inside of her for years and she'd just needed someone to reach out and...flick it. Lights had turned on inside of her, and she genuinely didn't know what to do now that she could see so much more clearly.

What could she do?

Quit?

Quit the one thing she'd been doing for the last almost nine years of her life? That was almost a decade, for God's sake.

She just didn't know if she could go back into what they had her doing before this. She couldn't dive head first back into those deep cover missions. What if she ended up lost like Ryker?

Who was she kidding? She had been lost. It was his betrayal after she'd trusted him as her handler that had yanked her head out of the sand. His actions had finally gotten her to see her life for what it was. She'd been a machine. Worse than that, a tool.

Agent Sarah Walker didn't know if she was prepared to go back to that again. But what else was there for someone whose insides were put together wrong? She'd had a chance to make sure she'd come together right, but the CIA had stymied that chance and now she was just...wrong.

Chuck didn't think so. But he didn't know. He was a guy who worked behind a bar a few nights a week. He probably thought he knew everyone who walked in there. She could imagine it was probably pretty easy to get observant, to think you saw and knew everything once you spent enough time in a job like that. He couldn't know just by looking at her that she was a secret agent, someone who'd gone deep undercover to save people, yes, but also to assassinate people, to steal for the government of the United States of America, and other terrible things. Lives ended, lives ruined. Because she was told to. Just thirty-one hours before she'd come to sit at Chuck's bar, she'd killed a room full of people with a baby strapped to her torso. He'd never know that. And so he'd seen someone who was too hard on herself.

But she couldn't help thinking about how genuine he'd been. He'd said things that had made her fold in on herself, but in a good way. He'd made her reflect. And he'd made it that much harder to see a future in which she went back to the killing and spying.

Did she deserve freedom? Three weeks ago, she would've said no. Three weeks ago, maybe she wouldn't have even thought of it as freedom. But now...now she thought...well, maybe she did deserve it if she wanted it.

She pulled up the map on her computer and stared at the distance between this building and the one she'd found herself walking into nine days ago—when she'd felt heartbroken and lost, wrecked inside and out. She'd left hours later, drunk and feeling...not quite as terrible. And the alcohol had only resulted in the drunk part of it. The feeling not quite as terrible had everything to do with Chuck. The bartender.

He'd made her feel less alone. Maybe that was it. He'd put her on the spot for tearing herself down, but then he'd admitted he did the same thing to himself often enough. And she'd felt...seen. In a good way. Finally. She hadn't felt like a ghost for the first time since...well, since she was a child, really.

It wasn't fair to put that much onto him. He was a stranger.

He was a bartender doing his job. But something else had been there. She wasn't completely stupid or foolish. He was cute and warm, had kind and intelligent eyes… She imagined women came in there and found themselves flirting with him, getting advice from him… He probably sold a lot of drinks that way, and got tips as big as the one she'd given him. Even drunk, she'd been very aware of the fact that those assholes hadn't tipped him after making him run across the bar to bring them their drinks, after treating him like shit. So she'd tipped fifty dollars. He'd deserved it.

It was worth it, sitting there for a couple of hours, getting that kind of nearly undivided attention, having him be so...open and easy to talk to. Was he always like that, she wondered?

She could probably find out if she drove the four miles from this office to Casey's Bar tonight, if she sat at that bar again. But she was freaking nuts for even thinking about it, for looking up the directions to getting there. What would she gain by putting herself on one of those stools again when she was so confused and mixed up and in this...God damn limbo with her life?

He would make her feel good again maybe. And so…? What then?

She closed the map and sighed, pushing a hand through her hair, pulling it up off of her neck and into a messy bun at the back of her head.

"You're a mess," she breathed to herself, rubbing her hands down her face. She was considering going to a bar to see a particular bartender again so he could say nice things and make her tasty drinks and...look at her like that again. Like...well, like she was the only person in the world. There'd been a respectful distance, a lack of blatant flirtation or invitation, but she'd still felt so connected to him. Like she could sit there for days on end just talking to him, laughing at the weird, funny things that popped into his head, protecting him from shitty customers.

Damn her, she ached to feel that way again.

But that night, she'd gone back to her apartment and sat in her tub. Then she'd sat on the end of her bed, just staring at the wall. Then she'd moved to the window and looked out over Downtown LA's skyline. And finally she'd gone to bed only to stare at the ceiling in the darkness.

She hadn't gone to Casey's Bar.

The bartender with the dark curls and the warm brown eyes wasn't going to help her figure her shit out, as good as he was at seemingly saying the right things that got under her skin and stayed there.

And the next night, she'd walked past it, but on the other side of the street, peering in to see people sitting at the tables. She'd kept walking, going all the way back to her apartment again. Because a voice had asked what in the hell was wrong with her? She wasn't normal. She wasn't some regular girl who'd had a nice chat with a bartender and thought maybe she could go back and chat him up again. She wasn't some accountant or somebody who worked in the gardening department of Home Depot. She wasn't a teacher or a bus driver. She was a freaking CIA agent—a secret agent, a spy, an assassin who had a completely different name from the one she was born with now. None of this shit in her life was normal.

It was the night after that when Agent Sarah Walker wandered into Casey's Bar. An agent had been killed a few hours earlier. She hadn't seen it happen. She'd been at the office when the news reached them. It had been an intel grab and he'd been shot, pronounced dead at the hospital. And as selfish as she knew it was, it had really put into stark perspective for her just how easily that could've been her. How it could be her in the future.

The first thing they'd had her do before her first mission in the field was to write a will. They stuck it in a hard drive, then put that in a little box they kept for her. Some agents kept them in their possession, others probably gave them to certain people… Graham kept hers. Because, well, there was no one else, was there?

But she needed that will for if she died the way Agent James had.

She'd felt too heavy to deride herself for seeking comfort. And so she found herself in Casey's, two of the tables full—a waitress moving between them—and a handful of people at the bar. It was lateish, almost eleven, and a weeknight. Weirdly enough, it was busier than it had been ten days ago…

And it didn't matter because he was behind the bar, in a different color button-up this time, his hair a little messier as if this had been a more stressful shift than last time, a pen clamped between his teeth as he rang up somebody's card on the machine.

His back was to her, but she could see his profile. Something was churning inside of her, but she didn't recognize it. She was distracted by a sense of relief at being in here again, being surrounded by people who didn't know her, people who didn't know what she did, what she'd done. These people didn't give her weird looks like the analysts at the office did. Like they thought she was going to snap and murder them at any moment, like they didn't think she was the hot shit her reputation might lead them to believe, like they were waiting for her to slip up.

"You have a good night, okay?" he said to the middle-aged woman at the bar as he handed her card back to her, grinning. He moved across to the other end of the bar and leaned in to hear another customer's drink order, quickly getting to work, heading for the tap with the tall beer glass in hand.

Sarah quietly slid onto a stool and just watched him. He stuck his pen behind his ear and handed the glass to the customer, taking their card and running it through, handing it and the receipt back to them, giving them his pen…

He did a quick survey down each end of the bar, looking for empty glasses, looking for anyone new trying to catch his eye so that they could order, and he saw her. He turned away but froze, and just as quickly, he was spinning back to face her, eyes wide. A grin stretched over his face immediately and he closed the distance like his life depended on it.

"Well, hello!" he greeted, stretching his hand out towards her.

She let him have her own hand and shake it as she beamed back at him. "Hi, there."

"Back for another round? You here to get drunk again? I've been studying up and I've got quite a bit up my sleeves this time." He pointed to each rolled sleeve with his free hand, making her chuckle.

"No, I don't need to get drunk this time."

"Really?" He nodded and crossed his arms at his chest, finally letting go of her hand. "You'll have a drink, though?"

"Why else do you think I came?" she shot back, tilting her head. The sting of the incident today, the life lost and the sense of vulnerability crashing down around her ears, seemed to almost fade to the background.

He laughed and she wondered if he knew why she'd really come. Something in his eyes told her he did know. Or maybe he thought he knew but didn't want to assume. He seemed like the type of person who would be that way.

"Bitch seat? Or something a bit tamer, Sarah?"

It was stupid, the way she felt her insides do a little leap when he said her name. Ten days, however many more customers he'd poured drinks for, accepting payment from, talked to, helped, and maybe even flirted with… He still had her face and her name in his head.

"I don't want to feel the way I felt the morning after the last time I was here, so maybe just a mule this time, Chuck."

He clenched his jaw and winced, wrinkling his nose adorably. "Oh, damn. Was it that bad?"

"Not that bad, no. But it certainly made me rethink my choices. That said, thank you for not cutting me off the way you might've wanted to." She raised an eyebrow.

"You kept yelling at me not to try to regulate how much you were drinking. I didn't want you kicking my ass; I had work the next morning." He laughed and nearly ducked away, but then he pushed back against the bar and held up a finger. "Wait, what kind of mule?"

"Uh...any kind. Gin, vodka, whatever…"

"You like making me use this, don't you?" he asked, pointing to his forehead.

"Maybe. You're good at it."

He bowed a little. "Thank you. Let me get you that drink." As he backed away, he pointed. "Don't go anywhere."

She quietly shook her head, holding back a smile as he turned and went to start fixing her drink. Someone who was leaving the bar called his name and waved. "See ya next time, Danny!" he called out, grinning as he continue to pour the ginger beer over the ice.

It was good to be amongst a crowd like this, she thought again. Good to be in a normal atmosphere, surrounded by people here having fun, friends meeting, dates clicking…

She spared a thought to how this was like a different world to her. So completely separate from the life she led, the life she was used to. Everything practiced but risky and dangerous all at once, every move calculated, nearly every word that came out of her mouth a lie.

And for the people here, having a drink in this pleasant bar, her world was something they most likely didn't even know existed. What she did would be completely alien to them. They'd all think she was some kind of monster if they knew.

"Here it is."

She looked up to see Chuck setting the mule in front of her, carefully slipping a lime onto the rim of the glass. "Thank you."

"Do you wanna know this time?"

She grinned down at the drink, then picked it up to take a sip. "Oh, that's gin. I know my gin."

He reared back and did a golf clap for her. "Well played, Sarah. Well played." He looked like he wanted to lean in and say something, but something down the bar must've caught his eye because he held up a finger, reluctance on his face, and darted away to help another customer.

It went on like that for about an hour, Chuck trying to dash back and forth between her and the rest of the customers, until it became late enough that there was only one couple left at the end of the bar who looked too engrossed in one another to care if the bartender checked in on them.

It was almost one-thirty in the morning once he settled against the counter in front of her and refilled her drink. She also noticed he wordlessly got her a glass of ice water, and she decided not to chastise him for it this time around. It made her insides smile, however.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to come back," he said quietly, leaning one elbow on the counter so that he was hunched over a little.

"I wasn't sure if I was going to come back, either," she admitted.

He raised his eyebrows. "Why not? Those guys did end up leaving a bad Yelp review but hopefully it gets drowned out by some good ones. We don't get people like that here too often."

She smirked and sipped her second gin mule. "Asshats," she groused, making him chuckle. "And no, it wasn't anything I experienced here. I mean, there's a reason I'm sitting here again. It's just…" How did she even explain this without giving him her whole life story? She didn't have much practice speaking to people candidly. And that was really what she wanted this to be. She wanted to be real with him, because she couldn't do that with anyone else in her life, in her career. Not even benched like she was. "I-I don't get out much."

"Ah. Workaholic?" He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Sorry. You don't have to answer that. Kinda presumptuous."

"No, no. It's—It's okay. You aren't presumptuous. You kinda hit the nail on the head, though. I work really hard and it's made me...not great at social situations."

"You're doing fine," he said easily with a shrug. "There's a reason my tips are probably a little on the lighter side tonight, and it's probably because I spent more time with you than I did, uh, doing my job." He winced. "And I gotta tell ya, that wasn't an accident. I don't do that for people who aren't...well...you."

She really tried not to blush as she shook her head and looked down at her drink, taking a long sip. "I'm really sorry if my being here meant your tips took a hit."

"No, no...hey. That isn't your fault. I made a calculated decision, knowing there'd be consequences. At the end of the night, my calculations paid off 'cause…" He cleared his throat, standing up a little straighter. "Well. 'Cause."

They both knew what he meant, and she took another sip of her drink, setting it down slowly, pursing her lips and twisting them to the side. It wasn't even particularly...flirty...whatever was going on here between them. She didn't know how to describe it even in her own head. It was just a warmth, a connection. A comfort level that was … uncomfortable.

"Well, I'll be sure to tip my bartender heartily," she teased.

Chuck let out a short laugh and shook his head. "Please don't tip me as much as last time. That was overly generous. Though I'm seriously grateful. That was very nice of you."

"You earned it." She glanced down the bar. "You're good at your job. Especially with how you're...welcoming and open. People need that sometimes when they come into a place like this. Someone who doesn't ask five million questions, isn't judgmental...someone who's just...there for you."

"I provide a service. Alcoholic beverages. I mean, it isn't like I don't get paid for it." He chuckled.

"True, true." She giggled and nodded. And then she licked her lips and slowly looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "You provide this safe space for people to drink and...well, for lack of a better way to phrase this, spill their guts. But I wonder, Chuck, if you have a place where you can go…"

"To spill my guts?" he asked, smiling a bit crookedly down at her.

"Sure. I mean, do you ever get to talk to customers? Or are you just the sounding board? The guy who nods and says, 'Aw sorry, buddy, sounds like you've had a rough day. Chin up.'? I'm curious."

His smile widened, and then it dimmed just as quickly, replaced by a thoughtful look. His jaw was pretty nice in profile, and she liked the shape of his nose, and how his warm intelligent eyes were framed with long eyelashes. She wondered how he looked outside, in the daytime. Or if there was something special in the dim bar lighting that did something to her when she looked at him.

"I guess...not. If I'm bein' honest." He shrugged and met her gaze again. "I have a sister. She's a really good listener. But here? Nah. I've got my job to do. People don't wanna hear about my bad day. They wanna talk about their bad day and have someone uninvolved listen to 'em." He spread his hands out on the bar and leaned forward, furrowing his brow. "And that's okay! I'm good with that."

Sarah made a thoughtful sound and nodded, leaning her elbow on the bar top and propping her chin in her palm. She just stared at him silently, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

He looked a little surprised and pulled his chin back a bit, pointing at his chest. "What, me? Talk to you? Now?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Why not? Turn the tables a bit. You listened to my drunken, nonsensical rambling last time, didn't you?"

"Yeah, and you tipped me, like, fifty bucks." He chuckled. "And anyway, I enjoyed our conversation thoroughly."

"Come on, Chuck. How was your day?"

He snorted and rolled his eyes a bit, but then he pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes down at the counter, before he sighed and nodded, as if he'd made up his mind. "It was okay?" He winced and tilted his head. "So-so."

"Just okay? So-so?"

Looking amused, he shook his head and chuckled. "I have a daytime job which is...not super fun all the time. In fact, some days it's downright bad. And it pays worse. And my coworkers are like… ill-behaved chimps."

She laughed. "Do they use the store as their own playground to swing on things and make a mess?"

"You're joking, but yes. Sincerely. Literally. That's exactly what they do some days. I had to save one of them from breaking their neck 'cause they were trying to hang from a banner like Tarzan or something. I don't know what the fuck he was thinking, but…" He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Sarah blinked. "Oh. Okay, wow. You can't find somewhere else to work?" She winced. "Sorry, you probably get that all the time when you complain about your job and coworkers, and it's never as easy as people make it sound, I'm sure."

He sniffed in amusement. "Don't apologize, it's okay. But I mean, you're right. People do say that a lot. Move on, Chuck. Go somewhere else." He shrugged. "I don't have a great résumé. And I've had that job since high school, and it's just…"

"Safe," she said quietly, staring off to the side. "Easy."

"Yeah. Exactly. I know what I'm doing. I could do it in my sleep. And maybe…" He huffed, which drew her attention back to him. She gave him a questioning look and he wrinkled his nose in a wince. "This is gonna make me sound bad, but...they depend on me there. Without me, the place would...crumble. I make it function. And I kind of...like that feeling of being...uh, needed. Necessary." He made a face. "Does that sound terrible? That must sound terrible."

"No, not at all. I completely empathize. I-I mean, I get it totally. You have no idea how much I get it."

That earned her a smile that made her feel like she could just become a puddle, lie down on the floor and just let them sweep her up at the end of the night and toss her in the trash bin.

"Thank you for not judging me outwardly, even if you might be judging me inwardly. You're doing a really good job of hiding it."

Sarah laughed, shaking her head. "I don't have to hide anything because I'm not judging you. I sincerely understand exactly what you mean. No judgment."

He laughed with her and nodded. "Good. Thank you."

She sipped her drink. "And for the record, I-I get that whole...concept of wanting to feel necessary. But I might go even further and say—at least for myself—" Was she really about to say this? She was. She really was. But who would he tell? This couldn't possibly cause problems. She'd met him one other time in her life but he was...And this was… "Maybe I've been at my-my job for so long, I mean it's the only thing I know, the only thing I can do, and maybe I couldn't...do another job. Maybe I'm not...fit for anything else."

"You feel like you'd fail if you tried to move into some other business, in some other industry or whatever. Oh my God, I feeeeel that, Sarah," he drawled, groaning a little.

"Yeah. Exactly. I might be...stuck. And disillusioned at the same time. Which is…" She let out a breath through pursed lips and widened her eyes.

"Not a fun place to be in," he said softly. She felt his gaze on her and it was just as soft.

"Nope. But I dunno, maybe I did it to myself."

"I think that sometimes...and then I think, naaaaah, it was a mess of things I couldn't control. That's what did it. And then I go back to...nah, man, you're doing it to yourself. 'Cause you want to feel like a big fish in a little pond. And you're lazy."

"You're working two jobs, one of which you apparently save your coworkers' lives on a daily basis, and the other...well, you're a bartender. You can't be a good bartender and lazy." She shook her head at him.

"Maybe I'm not such a good bartender…" He raised an eyebrow.

"You're a great bartender. Best one who's ever handed me a drink, that's for sure," she said immediately, the look on her face and the tone of her voice strong, steady.

He seemed to melt a little, the tension leaving his shoulders. "You should maybe be a bartender. You're good at this, Doc."

That made her giggle, mostly through her nose, and she grinned, blushing. She finished her drink and subtly turned her wrist to look at her watch. Damn, this place closed in five minutes. Damn damn damn. She didn't want to leave. "I can't mix a drink to save my life. But thanks."

"Well, you're a good listener. I appreciate you turning the tables on me, giving me a chance to grouse about my life that—all things considered—isn't all that terrible. I make a living even if I'm a tad overworked and have ugly circles under my eyes."

"Nothing about you is ugly, Chuck." She shrugged one shoulder. "At least...not anything I've seen yet."

The way she emphasized yet...well, it was sort of an accident. And that one word held quite a bit of insinuation in it. She realized just how much when his jaw fell open and he ducked his head, a vibrant blush on his face. He was seriously cute, and was it bad that she wanted to reach up, twist her fists in his button-up, and tug him in for a kiss? That'd be a nice tip on top of the actual tip she was gonna leave.

She didn't do it, merely keeping her eyes on him as he let out a nervous chuckle and stood up straighter, glancing over as the couple at the end of the bar got up. He held up his finger for her to wait, then shuffled over to where they were shrugging their jackets on.

"Have a good rest of your night. Thanks for comin'." He gathered up the glasses and accepted the woman's cash tip with a grin. "Oh, thank you! Thanks so much. G'night…" He waved at them as they left, grabbed a cloth to wipe up the area, and hastened back to her side.

But she was already getting up herself, grabbing her jacket from her lap.

"Oh, are you...going, too?" he asked.

"Aren't you closed?" She checked her watch. "Two minutes ago?"

"Um. Yes. Technically. But I'm closing up myself tonight. Casey and his daughter, Alex, both went home for some family thing early. I've kept this place open a bit longer for people before. It's not like...the cops are gonna come arrest me if I don't close immediately."

The way he rattled that off without really even taking a breath, reaching out with his hand as if he was trying to persuade her not to leave just yet made her pause, one arm in the sleeve of her jacket. "It's after two in the morning. Don't you wanna close up and get home so you can go to sleep? I mean, haven't you been here for hours?"

"Yeah." He shrugged and bit his lip. "Yeeeeeeah," he said in a drawl. "I'll go lock the door, turn the sign, and be… 'closed'. But you can stay and finish your drink. If you want."

Sarah smirked, sending the empty glass a look. "I finished my drink."

"Oh. You did, didn't ya? Heh." He looked embarrassed and she felt bad, teasing him like this. So she took her arm back out of the jacket and laid it pointedly on the stool next to the one she'd sat on for over two hours tonight. His smile grew on his face slowly.

"I should probably get that water down, though, since...you went to all that effort pouring it."

"The ice is the hardest part. Putting those cubes in there." he grinned, his nose wrinkling, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, a skip in his step as he hurried around the bar to the door and flicked the lock, turning the sign.

Sarah sat and took a sip of the water. "Mmm. You did a marvelous job with the ice. Really."

"Thank you," he chuckled, and instead of walking back around behind the bar, he plopped onto the stool on the other side of her jacket, just close enough. Or maybe a part of her wanted to move her jacket and make him sit right next to her. But she didn't dare.

"What the hell are you doing letting me sit here after hours instead of kicking me out so you can clean up and go home?" she asked drily, sending him a smirk.

"I'm…" He narrowed his eyes, then laughed, shrugging exuberantly. "I don't know! I'm just going with my gut. Is that okay? If you want to go, if you wanna get home and go to sleep, please don't let me keep you here. Seriously."

She shook her head, feeling shy all of a sudden. "I...don't. If that's okay."

His grin made her shiver. "It's so okay. Anyway, you only had two drinks tonight. So things must be...they must be a little better than they were last time, which is good."

Sarah laughed. "They're not better. I've just gotten a speck of distance from what brought me in that night." She appreciated that he didn't ask for details. He just watched her quietly, steadily. It made her feel warm. "I don't know if they're worse, or just...not better. But I wanted to be here again. Call me crazy."

"I'm not gonna call you crazy," he chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. "Don't look to me for that. Or maybe we're both crazy. I don't know. I'm okay with it if we're both crazy, full disclosure."

"Me, too." She paused then, looking around the bar in all its empty glory. "Are you sure your boss isn't going to be pissed at you for letting some random woman sit here after closing?"

He chuckled. "Nah. John's a good guy and there's a certain level of trust between us now. I've been tending this bar for five years now," he said, patting it. "He knows I'd never let someone unsavory hang out here after hours."

Sarah barked out a laugh. "Now what is it about me that makes you think I'm not unsavory?"

"Oh shit, I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

She laughed again. "Yep, you did." She propped her chin in her hand again. "But you still have to answer the question."

"Damn it."

"Valiant effort to deflect."

He let out a chuckle and made a dissatisfied face. "Fine. Um…" He paused, thoughtfully, sending her a faux glare that made her beam in amusement. And then she spotted a bit of a light in his eyes. "Your smile. For one." Said smile dimmed in surprise, and she could feel heat surge up from the collar of her blouse. She ducked her head shyly and tried to beat back the smile that threatened to explode on her face. "And for a less shallow answer? If you were unsavory, I think you would've already conked me on the head with something, broken into my register, and taken my money."

Without really thinking about what she was doing, she reached up and bumped her fist against the top of his head. "Bonk."

They both stopped, Sarah sure her soul must've left her body. And then Chuck burst into laughter, rocking forward. Sarah just gave a supremely embarrassed, closed-mouth smile, looking away and rolling her eyes at herself.

"I don't know why I did that," she muttered, putting her hand to her forehead.

"Easily the most endearing thing a woman's ever done to me. Anyone, let alone a woman. Like if there were such a thing as the Cute Olympics, that move right there would have you the gold medal. Easily." He was still chuckling, his eyes bright with mirth. It was foolish, she knew, but she felt liked...and she was enjoying the feeling. This guy genuinely liked her, in spite of...well, she didn't know what it was in spite of. He just liked her.

"Well, I hope that is proof enough that I'm not an unsavory character," she mumbled, still trying to fight back the embarrassment. Where had that even come from?

"I didn't need the proof but I'm really glad that happened."

"That makes one of us."

Chuck laughed again. "Anyway, if you were unsavory and intended to steal from me, it wouldn't be that hard. Not for you, at least."

"Why?" she asked, genuinely curious. "You just gonna let me have your money 'cause I'm kinda pretty?"

He snorted. "No. Not that you aren't pretty, because you're verifiably, objectively beautiful…" She blushed again. "But I meant 'cause I'd try to fight you off and you'd handily kick my ass."

She rocked forward with laughter. "You can't possibly know that for sure."

"True, true," he said, amusement in his face. "But you're just...I dunno, the way you carry yourself. Like you know your own body and what it's capable of." She knew he most likely wasn't aware of how that sounded, but she felt heat...everywhere suddenly. "I feel like you have to know some, like, jiu jitsu. You seem like an ass-kicker."

She giggled, sipping her water. "That's high praise, considering you don't me super well, barkeep."

"You know, you are using the same nickname the leader of the Craphead Cluster used for me, which should be inciting negative feelings inside of me, but you've somehow managed to commandeer it and make it enjoyable. You have a gift."

Sarah snorted and shook her head. "What, barkeep? Yeah, I did that on purpose. I sort of like it."

"So do I."

"I sort of like you, too. For the record." She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.

He was definitely blushing, and then his handsome face blossomed into sheer pleasure, a big smile on his lips. "Oh, uh...thanks. I like you, too, Sarah."

"Thanks."

"Oh, no problem," he gushed, and she giggled at the goofy look on his face.

"You sure this isn't gonna keep you up too late?" she asked then, pushing a hand through her hair. She was getting tired but she didn't dare let it show. She didn't dare yawn or rub her eyes.

"Well, I mean...it is...nearing three. But I don't have a shift tomorrow in either of my jobs, miraculously." He winced. "Wait, I do have an install but not 'til late afternoon. So...I don't care if I never sleep."

And he thought _she_ was endearing…?

"I have to leave at some point, Chuck. Sorry to break it to you," she giggled.

"I know, I know. But you..haven't finished your water."

She laughed. "Weeeeeak."

That made him giggle and wiggle his fingers together in front of him like a cartoonish villain. "Oh yes, I am the weakest of the weak. I will lower myself to any level on the weakness scale to keep you sitting on that stool."

She picked up her jacket and moved it to the stool on the other side of her, then with one quick move, she took its place, that much closer to him. "You failed."

He cracked up, thumping the bar top with his palm. "Damn it. I did fail. You are now sitting on another stool. I am a failure."

Giggling, she slid her water in front of her and drank a few long sips from it. Sitting this close to him...changed things. And she thought maybe that she should leave soon, just so she didn't cave under the temptation. Of what...she wasn't sure. She just knew it was there. The temptation.

"I have a question," she said suddenly, slowly lifting her eyes to his.

"Yes, these curls are natural," he answered immediately.

Sarah laughed. "I'm impressed. But that definitely wasn't my question."

"Oh. I'm so sorry. My actual name is Charles. Chuck's just a nickname." She narrowed her eyes, unable to keep the amusement from her features, and he chuckled. "Sorry, I'm done. What's your question."

"You said you overwork yourself…" She paused and he nodded. "Are you doing it because you...want to? Or because you have to? That's a little personal, maybe kinda deep. But something about being in this bar this late...or I guess early? I dunno. It just makes me feel a little...deep."

"Like a slumber party," he said, putting his tongue between his teeth. She giggled and shrugged. She didn't know what a slumber party was besides what she saw on TV and in movies. Were stakeouts like...adult spy slumber parties, maybe? All of her stakeouts were done in silence, even when other agents were there with her. She needed to get out of her own head.

"Yeah, I really can't answer your question. Not-Not because I don't want to. It's really that I don't...know the answer." She nodded. "It's easy to fall into the pattern of it once you get used to it. Late nights closing up the bar, sleeping in 'til late morning, heading into the store, getting off and napping, eating, going back to the bar...I don't know. It was necessary in the beginning. LA's an expensive place to live." He chuckled and she smiled at him, just watching his face as he spoke to her—again with full candidness. "I'm not sure it's necessary anymore. I've got a savings. But it's just...Man, I don't even know if I want to do it. Now that I'm really thinking about it. But I don't know if I could stop. What would I...do with myself?" He shook his head, brow furrowed. "What about you?" he asked, putting his hand on her bicep for the briefest moment. Too brief.

And she realized it was the first time he'd touched her since he shook her hand hours ago. His touch was potent. She really needed him to touch her again, or maybe it'd be better if he didn't.

"Me?" she asked, a little breathless. It only made sense he asked the same question of her. "Um...to be honest with you, Chuck, work is all I really have. So...it...kind of makes sense I spend an inordinate chunk of my life on the job, working."

He frowned, then sent her a bit of a look, a corner of his mouth tilting up wryly. "Come onnnn," he groused, nudging her gently. "Your job can't really be all you have."

"No, it is," she said in a clear voice, nodding. "It really is. I'm not saying that for pity or sympathy. I'm good at my job and it pays well and I'm...all right." She shrugged one shoulder, feeling vulnerable suddenly, exposed. "I'm just fine."

"Maybe you need to find something else...besides just work." He made a face and looked away, shaking his head. "I'm not telling you what to do, though. That's condescending. If you're happy working as much as you do, then you're happy."

She wasn't happy. But she wasn't ready to say that out loud, certainly not to this...well, semi-stranger. As warm and kind and attractive as he was. As much as he'd perhaps unknowingly carved out this safe, comfortable, warm space of the world for her to be in, where nobody and nothing seemed to be able to touch her.

"You might be right," she admitted. She shrugged again. "I don't know." She guzzled the last of the water and set the cup down. "I...really should get going, though. Even if I don't...really want to. I have an early morning."

"Oh. Oh shit. Sorry. I shouldn't have kept y—"

"No, I did this knowingly. On purpose. I would've left if I wanted to. And...anyway, I do pretty well on not much sleep."

"Soooo what you're saying iiiiis...that last glass of water was worth it."

She giggled, beaming at him. "It so was."

"I agree."

They stared for a few too short moments, and then she finally broke his gaze and stood up. "Can I...pay for my drinks?"

"Oh my God! I'm sorry, I never actually closed your tab. Just…" He scrambled to his feet and curled his fingers around her wrist apologetically. "Just a second. I'll do that." He hurried back around behind the bar and closed her tab quickly, and he handed her the receipt to sign. "Please don't write a five and a zero before the decimal point again. Please."

She laughed. "I won't. Just 'cause you've asked me not to. Even though I'm tempted considering you left this place open for a good chunk of time for me."

"Resist the temptation."

She'd been doing just that for a good hour, she thought to herself, biting back a grin as she wrote in his tip, signed the receipt, and handed it and the pen back to him. "There. Thank you, Chuck."

"Thank you, Sarah." He smiled, then bit his lip as if he had something else he wanted to say, but he shook his head and cleared his throat. "Lemme, uh, walk you to the door. You need a taxi?"

"I drove," she said. "But thanks."

"Oh. Okay. Sure."

They stopped at the door as he unlocked it and opened it just enough for her to walk through. But before she could get outside, she felt him take her hand. Was it normal for her to feel a shock go through her system at the feeling of his fingers surrounding hers? Did that happen to people often?

She turned back and looked up at him expectantly.

"Are you going to come back?" he asked. "I mean, you aren't gonna just disappear, are you?"

How did she answer that? Because that was exactly what she should do. As a CIA agent, even as a benched one. She shouldn't be coming back to this place, back to this man who managed to make her want to show him all of her cards. God, that was scary. This was scary.

"I...don't think so," she said. "I don't think I'll disappear," she clarified.

He smiled. "Good. When you come back, think you can swing it...a little sooner this next time?"

She needed to get out of here or she'd melt and never leave. "Yeah. I can."

Chuck nodded and let go of her hand. "Be safe out there."

"You, too."

She walked away, hearing how long he left the door open, as if he was watching after her, before she finally heard the creak and the thump of it shutting and being locked. She hurried to her car around the corner on the next block, letting the cool night air brush over her red cheeks, and she left her jacket unzipped to allow for said cool night air to grace her exposed collarbone where the heat was the most vicious.

She had just told him she'd go back, and sooner, and she lied to so many people throughout her life, both for and...well, not for her job. She didn't want to lie to him. So she supposed...she supposed she'd have to make good on her word, wouldn't she?

Grinning, she swung into the driver's seat behind her wheel and shut the door solidly, turning the key in the ignition.

She only just barely saw something shift in her rearview mirror before two hands came up with a rope. She felt it yank against her throat, her attacker pulling hard as she lost the ability to breathe.

* * *

**A/N:** I'll try to get the next chapter out quick, free time willing. I know I left this in a bit of a spot. Please please keep the reviews coming. It's fuel I use to keep the fire going. Thanks for reading!

-SC


	3. Chapter 3

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary:** A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**A/N:** Thanks for reading, y'all. It means a whole lot to me. The story continues!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

* * *

Sarah stared down at the unconscious man in the back of her car, even as she choked, gasping for air. She was bleeding from her head and possibly had a concussion, she'd obliterated her fist and still tasted blood in her mouth from biting his forearm when he'd tried to strangle her to death.

But she'd managed to overpower him and he was out like a light, blood covering his face from a most likely broken nose. She grappled for her phone and called her people, keeping her eyes on him.

"Agent...Agent down," she gasped, giving them the cross streets. "Need medical attention."

"We'll be right there, Agent Walker. Got an ambulance on the way now."

"Inform...Director Graham. Tell him...Ryk-Ryker…" She was losing consciousness. She fought it, though. She fought it tooth and nail as she heard the sirens down the street.

"On it. Stay with us. Are you shot? Losing blood?"

"N-No. My head. Concujun…"

"Okay."

She slumped into the passenger seat as she heard the ambulance slide up against her car and screech to a halt. There were agents there along with EMTs, gently taking her out of the car as her vision swam. She put a hand on one of the agent's shoulders...she couldn't remember his name. Did she even know him? He was only a little familiar… Did she know her own name even? "S'Ryker. He's...a traitor. There's a manhunt out for 'im. Make sure you keep eyes on 'im. Graham...Director Graham...orders…"

"Agent Walton. Go with him in the ambulance and make sure we've got guys on him. Do not let him out of your sight," the agent said. "I'll go with Agent Walker."

She had things wrapped around her wounds and was hauled into the back of an ambulance, and everything was hazy from that point on until she woke up in a hospital bed she had no idea how much longer later.

Her head hurt like a bitch and she definitely had bruises all over from her tussle with Ryker. Ryker. Holy shit. She started but found a hand on her shoulder. "Hold on. Don't move," the doctor said.

"I-I need to talk to…"

"I know. Don't worry. I'm with the CIA, too, Agent Walker. Director Graham was very clear that your presence here, and that of the man you nearly killed needs to be handled as discreetly as possible." She smiled. "That's why I'm here."

"And...the man I nearly killed?"

"Heavily guarded. And heavily sedated. He'll be taken to a high security facility when he's recovered enough to be transferred."

So. A bunker. Good. She nodded, wincing.

"You feeling terrible?"

"Headache, bruised, but...I can breathe. So that's an improvement."

"Good. You have some rope burn on that neck of yours, but I checked and no damage otherwise. You do have a bit of a concussion, however. So we'll need to keep you under a close watch for a while. Just to make sure you recover properly."

"Oh. Thank you...Doctor…"

"Baqri."

"Thank you, Doctor Baqri."

The doctor smiled and nodded, checking a chart. "The Director will be in soon. Just sit tight."

Sarah nodded and watched as the white coat swept around the corner of the door before it shut tightly. She huffed and looked up at the ceiling.

How the hell had Ryker found her again? How did this happen? And then a thought struck her right between the eyes. Had he found her mom?

Panic shot through her. She was going to get right out of bed and find the Director herself when the door opened and he walked in. "Director Graham. Do we know what he was doing here? How he found me? Did he...did he find the child again?"

"He followed you. Seems he's been looking for you for a while. We think that it was revenge rather than anything having to do with the child. You betrayed him, Sarah." Graham shrugged and crossed his arms at his chest. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got into a life and death fight with my ex-handler in the interior of a car and was almost strangled to death."

Graham tilted his head and nodded. "Fair. I'm glad you're all right, Sarah."

"Am I un-benched?" she asked.

"Not quite." She huffed and he smirked a little. "Ryker is going to be locked away for good, so he isn't going to pose a threat anymore. But this just makes me even more certain that you need to stay out of the field for a while. You almost died last night, Sarah. You need a break. Stay here, keep doing this important work for us. Safe work. Less...risky work."

"I don't want to, Director. I want to be out in the field again."

"You can't. Not yet. At this point, Agent Walker...Sarah...you're more of a liability than anything. You have been through too much. And we don't want you going back into it before you're ready, both physically and mentally." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. Really."

She diverted her gaze. "How long do I have to be here?"

"Doctor Baqri thinks they'll release you later today, tomorrow morning at the latest depending on your scans."

"No, Director. I mean...I mean here. In Los Angeles."

"This will be your permanent base...at least for a while. You're doing great work here." She sent him a look, wondering if he thought she was stupid. "We like you here, Sarah."

"Where I can't cause you anymore trouble, you mean."

He pressed his lips into a thin line, almost like a tired, frustrated parent. "That isn't at all what I said."

She just nodded silently.

"I took the fastest flight here to make sure you were all right after what happened—Ryker attacking you. But I was in the middle of an important deal with Interpol so I have to get back. I'll keep in touch, Agent Walker. Keep yourself out of trouble, hm? Be well."

She didn't respond, watching him go. "Fuck you," she muttered once the door shut. "And fuck the CIA."

}o{

If Agent Walker had been rookie enough, she would've been disappointed at the lack of a reception from her colleagues back at the base. She was too experienced and too exhausted by all of it to care that no one left flowers on her desk or put Welcome Back banners up in her office.

Things proceeded just as they usually did, only Harriet asking how she was feeling on the first day she came back to work. And Sarah thought that was probably just because she'd been the one to take the phone call after Sarah first put Ryker out of commission and was suffering from a concussion and numerous other wounds.

But it was back to business as usual. Even with the welt on her head that was slowly subsiding, and the bruises that were still there and still pretty uncomfortable. Her hand was bandaged, the swelling slowly going down.

Everyone was staying out of her way, and they had been the past few days now. A week had passed since Ryker hid in her car and attacked her. And in that week, she'd done her job every day, only to go back to her apartment at the end of the night and pass out, wake up the next morning, go to work again…

Ryker was somewhere in an underground bunker. She didn't know what the CIA planned to do with him, but she knew he was never getting out. Her mom and the child were safe. And all she had to do was get in her car and drive for a few hours to get to her mom's home, see her again, hold that baby again.

She knew she couldn't. Ryker was out of the way. He couldn't hurt them. But he had to have allies out here. And there was no way in hell she was going to take the risk and lead them to her mom. Ryker had found her easily enough.

So instead she thought about it.

And more than anything, she thought about the bar. The bar_tender_ in particular.

She'd made a promise. But now that she knew Ryker had probably been there watching, had maybe even seen her interacting with Chuck the bartender, then laid in wait in her car so that he could murder her… She shivered. A full-body shiver. That bastard had been so close to an innocent man who was just being kind to a stranger who'd come into his bar a few times. What if he'd attacked Chuck instead of her? What if he'd broken in and killed the guy while he was wiping down the counters, counting down the drawers…?

She was a CIA agent. Even benched, she was still a secret agent who carried danger around with her like it was a membership card in her damn wallet. Was it right or fair to put a sweet, normal, real guy—a good guy—like Chuck in harm's way just because she felt good when she sat across the bar from him, when he smiled at her, when she made him laugh?

That was something she had to think on. She'd promised him she would go back, sooner than she had the second time. Maybe she'd go back one last time and tell him she was leaving LA. She couldn't just...not show up ever again. What kind of closure was that for him? And then she shook her head at herself, because they'd literally only met twice, for a few hours each time, had a good chat. Was there mutual attraction? She thought so. Warmth? Yes. Did he make her feel comfortable in a way that was a little dangerous, though? Yep. And maybe that was all the more reason for her to get away from that altogether.

Did he really need closure with a woman who'd come into his bar twice? Was she being ridiculous?

Or...

Well, there was a chance this was all just her being selfish. It would probably be worse if she showed up at his bar again and told him she was moving. But she wanted to feel that feeling of being around him again, didn't she? It felt so good.

And it felt like this last year she'd been slammed down into the ground and kicked repeatedly from all angles. When she recovered from one kick, another came from behind her, and then another, and another. She was exhausted. Beaten down.

And maybe she just wanted to feel good for once. She wanted to go somewhere that made the shit go away. She wanted to watch someone look at her the way he did. No, she really just wanted to watch _him_ look at her that way.

Before she could stop herself, she was on her feet, grabbing her purse, shrugging on her jacket, and pushing out of her office with her briefcase in hand. "Harriet? I have my phone on me if you need anything."

She didn't explain where she was going as Harriet nodded, eyes a little wide. She didn't feel like she owed any of them that.

Instead she just climbed into her car, automatically looking into the backseat and onto the floor of the backseat before she got in. She wondered if the habit would stick with her forever after her brush with death last week.

Agent Walker was tired of getting kicked.

Almost strangled to death by an ex-mentor who'd wanted to murder a baby, who'd betrayed his country and the CIA and tried to get her to do the same.

Saying goodbye to her mother for...well, forever. Potentially.

Getting benched.

She wanted one of Chuck's drinks. She wanted one of Chuck's smiles.

And while she definitely cared about his well-being, cared that a homicidal maniac and ex-CIA special agent had potentially been right outside of his place of work, she didn't want to sacrifice this warm pocket of light amidst the dark cautionary tale that her life had become at this point. She made sacrifices for her country nearly every day, gave her soul and body to the CIA to the point where she'd nearly been killed for it too many times to count in her twenty-six years. Nine whole years of being in the CIA, she'd almost died too. many. times.

For once, she was going to do something for herself.

She was gonna sit at a damn bar and smile at this guy and be candid and get things off her chest.

And…

As she walked into the bar, she realized it was barely five o'clock. People were eating at the tables, a few enjoying happy hour prices sitting at the bar. And somebody else was serving drinks. Because it was too early.

She supposed she wouldn't do any of those things because he wasn't here. Yet. Although, he certainly didn't work seven days a week. Maybe he wouldn't even come in at all. Was he still at his day job, she wondered? At the "store", he'd said. She wondered what kind of store. He mentioned doing installs. Was he on an install now? Did he wear a uniform?

Smiling to herself a little, she jumped in surprise as a brunette waitress walked up and smiled. "Hi! Welcome to Casey's! You here for happy hour? We're still going strong until six. Drinks are all half off."

Oh, shit. That was a deal. And she could use a drink. "Sure, yeah. And, um, a food menu?" A girl had to eat, after all.

The waitress looked like she was maybe twenty or so, or maybe twenty-one since she was serving drinks. She silently rolled her eyes at herself for that one, following the brunette to a corner table. "Or did you want to sit at the bar?" she asked.

Sarah didn't know. That was too much decision-making. She looked helplessly at the waitress who giggled. "Here. Just have a seat at the table and I'll grab you some water to give you time to look over our drink menu. Or if you want something not on the menu…"

"Uh, thanks." Sarah sat and took the food menu and drink menu, watching as the girl whose name tag said "Alex" on it hurried off. She would have a drink and eat, and if Chuck didn't show up after a while, she'd just count her losses and go home to stare at the TV, maybe. Or try a book.

She got an order of nachos covered in everything but the kitchen sink along with a dry martini and she just sat there, enjoying her food, staring at the table, only lifting her eyes if she heard the door open. Customer…another customer….another customer…..

It was almost six o'clock, her martini was gone, nachos nearly gone, and she was almost ready to bail when the door opened again and she looked up to see him walk in.

"Hey, Chuck," Alex called from behind the bar.

"Heeeeey!"

Sarah watched as he shivered from the cold outside and reached up to ruffle his own hair, wiping his feet and strolling across the room to duck back behind the bar. He disappeared into the kitchen or break room or whatever it was through the swinging door to the back and she turned back to look down at the rest of her dinner, fighting a grin.

To think she'd nearly left, too.

When she heard the thump of him walking through the swinging door back into the area behind the bar, she looked up and watched him sidle up next to Alex as she got someone's check at the computer. They chatted for a few moments, she walked away to hand the couple at the bar their check, and Chuck stepped up to the computer, his back to her as he tapped away at the screen.

Finishing whatever he was doing, he spun and made his way out from behind the bar again. "Hey, good luck with that double shift tonight, Alex."

That got him a faux dirty look and a laugh. He chuckled and stepped around to make for the exit again, Sarah realized, when his brown eyes swept over the corner where she sat. He kept walking and then froze. He spun to look at her, eyes wide. And a grin lit up his whole face.

He pulled his hands out of his sweatshirt pocket and he gave her a small wave, before he glanced over his shoulder at Alex behind the bar, and then back to Sarah again. She waved back and smiled as he slowly moved across the brick floor to stand next to her table. "Hi."

Sarah looked up at him. "Hey. No shift tonight, or…?"

"Uh, no. No shift. I came in to pick up my check on my way home from my sister's place. I'm, um, I'm off today."

"Both jobs?"

"Yeah. Fancy that, huh?" He cleared his throat, running a hand down the front of his jeans. "You're here earlier than usual." Chuck made a face then. "Usual. That makes it sound like you've come in, like, a hundred times instead of just the two times."

She laughed. "Well, I wanted to see how the dinner was at this place, since I've found the drinks to be pretty satisfactory."

"Satisfactory? Oh, wow." He chuckled, eyes lighting up. "With a glowing review such as this, I have to beg you to please go onto Yelp and relay your satisfaction there."

Sarah cracked up. "Still trying to get rid of Head Douchebag's Yelp review?"

"Yes, actually." He chuckled. "Do—Uh, do you mind if I…?" He gestured to a chair near hers at the table.

"Please," she said.

He beamed and pulled the chair out, sitting in it. "How'd you find the nachos? You chose well. John's really good at nachos. He has perfected the ultimate cheese to chip ratio."

"The chips are drowning in cheese."

"Exactly."

She laughed. "It's really good. I think he emptied the whole fridge onto this."

"That's what makes 'em the best." He shrugged, eyes falling to her empty glass. "Oh, hey, you want another martini? I can make you one."

"You're not working. You are not making me a martini," she said, eyebrow raised. "It's enough that you take care of me so well when you're on shift. I'm not making you do it when you aren't getting paid."

"I'll do it for a chip or two. How's that?" She gave him a look and he raised his eyebrows. "Or I can...not eat any of your chips…?"

"No, no. Of course you can!" She giggled. "I was looking at you like that because I was trying to figure out if you want chips because you're hungry. I can order another nacho plate and another martini or two if you want to join me." The look on his face was hesitant, then, and he shifted in his chair. "Unless you have someplace to be."

"I-I don't. No, I don't. I just don't want to...intrude. Um, also, you don't need to buy my dinner."

"Then pay me back," she said easily.

Chuck blinked. "Wow. Okay, well...you made that sound easy." She giggled. "All right. What the hell? I'll go get us some nachos and you another martini." She eyed him and he held up his hand. "Don't worry, I won't make any of it. I'm just gonna put in the order."

"Okay," she chuckled, watching him leap to his feet and move behind the bar again. Alex was mixing a drink. He moved in close and gestured to Sarah. She tried to put on her best polite smile with a mix of gratefulness and appreciation, getting a smile and raised eyebrows back.

She was good at reading lips, but Alex turned at just the right angle for her not to be able to decipher what she was saying to her coworker. But Chuck blushed, straightened his sweatshirt, and sent her a look before he ducked into the kitchen again.

He came back just as Alex walked over with a martini. "Here's that second martini," she chirped.

"Thank you so much. I appreciate it." She felt awkward as Chuck slid in to sit down, Alex peering down at them, at Chuck first, then at Sarah, then back at Chuck. "Oh and-and for the record, I wasn't ready for another martini but when Chuck offered to get me another one… I-I just don't want you to think I was sitting here impatiently waiting for a second drink."

She felt stupid. Why had she felt the need to even say that? She inwardly winced and glared a little at Chuck when he sent her an amused look.

Alex just giggled. "No worries. But don't hesitate to ask if you need anything." She poked Chuck in the shoulder. "You can get your own stuff, though."

"Wow, thanks. Thank yooou," he drawled as she moved away from their table. He turned back to Sarah and shrugged. "She looks up to me, ya know?"

Sarah chuckled. "Uh, yeah. I could definitely tell that's the case from the massive stink eye."

Chuck made a doubtful face and then grabbed one of the chips still left on her first plate, shoving it into his mouth. "Can I ask you somethin'?" he asked as he chewed and swallowed.

"Mhm."

"You come here looking for me? Or was it really about the dinner menu?" She ducked her head shyly. "Oh, hey. Hey, no. Don't be embarrassed or anything. I asked you to come back. I sort of...maybe...looked for ya the last few days. Just think it's sort of kismet I was picking up my check right now while you were here." He cleared his throat. "Oh, wait. You got that look because you really did come here for the food. And it wasn't me at all, was it? This is awkward."

"No," she said quickly, reaching out to drape her hand over his forearm. "No, actually...I sort of...I did come here to see if you were working." His eyes widened as he straightened his back and smiled. "I'm sort of stupid and didn't think about the time, showing up this early. You close at two, and that would've been, like, a nine hour shift or longer. Dumb." She rolled her eyes.

"When I close, I come in around six or seven, depending. But-But more importantly, you came here to see me? Seriously?"

She squeezed his arm where her hand still rested and smiled, pulling back just as Alex came by with the second plate of nachos.

"Oh, no. This nacho plate is for Chuck, isn't it? And I was tricked to bring it all the way over for him thinking it was for you. Dirty pool, Chuck. Dirty pool."

"If it makes you feel better, you can also bring me a Corona."

"You asshole," she groused, laughing. "Can I get you anything else?" Alex directed at Sarah.

"I'm good, thank you."

"'Kay." Alex winked and left again.

"Uh, you didn't really specify either way if you really came to see me. You sorta said it but just-just so I'm sure." Chuck cleared his throat again and leaned closer.

Smirking, she nodded. "Yeah, I did."

"You—"

Alex came back with Chuck's Corona, in spite of the sibling-levels of teasing got a sincere thank you from him for it, and left again. He took a swig of the beer and began eating sincerely.

"You addicted to my deft hand at drink-making or is it the fantastic shoulder to waist ratio?" He sat up straight and pulled his shoulders back, putting his fists on each hip and striking a Herculaic pose.

Sarah guffawed at that, nearly choking on her martini. She had to admit, at least silently to herself, that he hadn't been entirely off base with the second part. Now that he mentioned it, he had a pretty nice ratio of everything she'd been able to see of him so far. And wow, was that the two martinis taking control of her brain, or…?

Fighting back a blush, she reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Chuck was eerily quiet then, and she felt him go completely tense. She frowned in question and met his gaze. He was looking at her hairline above her left eye. Oh. Shit. She'd fixed her hair the last week trying to cover up the healing cut and the bump. She'd changed the part in her hair and everything. But she'd just let him see it. And his features looked...dark was the only word she could think of.

"What is that? Is that a cut? Are you okay?" he asked quietly, concern creasing his brow as he leaned in close and oh so gently reached up to brush her hair back from her forehead to get a better look. "That looks…"

"Terrible?" she finished for him.

He winced. "It—I mean, it isn't unsightly. But it had to hurt pretty bad. I've seen stuff like that and that's concussion status. What happened?"

Sarah suddenly realized she shouldn't have come. Of course he was going to ask questions about her injuries. Shit. Now she was going to have to lie. She'd just lost sense sitting there in her stifling office, thinking about what she deserved and what she'd done for her country and yadda yadda blah blah she was an idiot.

"It-It's nothing, Chuck. Don't worry about it."

"Well, I know it's none of my business. And you don't...know me super well. But I am worried. That…" She picked up her right hand to move her drink and he gasped, pointing at the bandages over her knuckles. "Sarah...Oh my God, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It wasn't a big thing."

"But you—but…" He pointed to her head, then her hand. "Sarah, what's happened? What's going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No." She shook her head and let out a soft huff, very nervous all of a sudden. "Look, it wasn't—It's over now."

"What's over? Was it a guy? Did some guy do this to you? Do I have to fucking kill someone?" She let out a soft laugh, raising her eyebrows. "Shit, I'm sorry." He furrowed his brow and hung his head a bit. "It really isn't my business. I'm not—I just… Please just say something, even if it's 'Leave me the hell alone, Chuck', or I'll keep rambling like an idiot."

"I was mugged," she blurted. And she felt awful. Because this was the first time she'd actively lied to him. "I-I mean, attacked. On the street." Anger swept through his features, mixed with shock. "Some asshole came at me and… But I'm fine. You think this is bad, you should see the other guy."

Kieran Ryker took five days to wake up from what she'd done to him. And when he woke up, he was in a holding cell underground with twenty-four/seven surveillance, the piece of shit.

"Somebody... You were mugged?"

"They didn't get anything. I came at him too hard and… Look, I'm okay." She gestured to herself. "Just a bump and a couple of swollen knuckles."

He sat back against his chair and stared down at the nachos, before he slowly pushed the plate away. "I lost my appetite. I feel sick. I can't believe that happened to you. God, I'm so sorry. I'm glad you're okay. I'm glad you kicked that guy's ass and I'm so sorry you went through that. Sarah...God…Can-can I do anything? Can I get you anything? We've got ice. Can I—?"

She giggled and couldn't help running her hand up his arm to his shoulder, squeezing. "No, I'm okay, Chuck. Really. Thank you. It didn't just happen. It was a week ago."

He frowned and she realized she maybe shouldn't have given him a timeline. "It...it wasn't that night, was it? When I made you stay here 'til almost three in the morning? Was it then?"

"No. Chuck, listen. It's in the past."

"A week ago in the past. I shouldn't have just let you walk out there alone. Oh my God!"

"Chuck, stop," she groused, squeezing his arm. "Hey, look at me." He did. "Stop. I took care of myself. A few bumps and bruises. That's all. Okay? Please, please stop trying to blame it on yourself. It had nothing to do with you. It's all on him. And...trust me, he's gonna suffer for it for...a very long time."

"Was he arrested? Did the cops get 'im? Please tell me he's in jail."

"Something like that."

"What?"

She raised her eyebrows. "What?" Sarah cleared her throat. "It isn't anything you need to worry about, okay? I'm here. We have nachos. Eat the freaking nachos, Chuck." She fixed her hair back over her wound.

And as she reached over to eat another chip smothered in stuff, she found she suddenly didn't want it as much as she had before, now that she'd just lied to him when she'd made something of a silent pact with herself to have him be the one person she didn't lie to.

Sarah just barely kept from jumping when his hand came up to her face. He gently took her hair between his fingers and shifted it so that it covered more of her forehead and temple. She looked into his brown eyes and saw that he was genuinely upset over what she'd gone through. But he gave her a soft, apologetic smile.

"Just...fixing it to cover better for you, since you seem not to want anyone to see it. And I'm guessing I'm included in that. Considering how I just flew off the handle, you were right to try to hide the head bump and the hand from me." He licked his lips. "I'm sorry. I can't stay out of it when someone I care about gets hurt. This is just my third time meeting you, Sarah, but… you were attacked out there, on the street, by someone trying to steal from you. I'm...feeling a crazy amount of emotions about it. Mostly, though, I just want you to know I'm here for you. Okay? Want another drin—Oh, you're not finished with that one yet. Sorry. I'm…"

"You're...sort of unraveling a bit there, Chuck." She made a bit of a pouting face at how genuinely sweet and concerned he was, his eyebrows turned up in the middle, with his adorable puppy dog eyes.

"I know. I'm ridiculous."

"You're sweet." She took his hand. "I don't need anything. It's all been taken care of. I'm on the mend. You don't have to worry. All I want you to worry about is eating all of these nachos and finishing that beer."

He squeezed her hand and smiled. "That's fair enough. But will you promise me something?"

"Sure." She shrugged, watching him start to eat again, thank God.

"After this, please let me walk you to your car. Please."

Agent Walker giggled. He had no idea. And how could he know? She nodded anyway. "Fine. If you insist."

"It'll make me feel a lot better. I mean, I'd probably end up punching myself by accident if anyone came after us…" She threw her head back with a laugh. "But maybe a six foot four guy would be a deterrent, anyway."

He certainly wasn't a deterrent for her. And that was seeming like less and less of a problem, wasn't it?

}o{

Another few days had passed before he saw Sarah again.

One of Casey's regulars had overdone it with the whiskey sours and needed to be walked out to his taxi. Thankfully, it was a busier night of the week and Alex was behind the bar with him so that he could step out and let the poor guy sling his arm over his shoulders so he could safely guide him out to the sidewalk.

He'd just finished easing Joe into the back of the cab, carefully shutting the door, when he heard the clicking of heels against cement behind him.

"So you walk everyone out, then? And I was starting to feel special."

Chuck turned, a smile already on his face before he even saw her. She readjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and smiled back.

"I only do this when they can't walk without falling flat on their faces." She nodded in understanding, then adjusted her strap again and shifted her weight, her blue eyes flicking to the side. "See, I don't know if you're here for me, the drinks, or, now, the nachos."

"This time it's the fact that the heater in my apartment is broken and Casey's Bar is always nice and warm. The alcohol helps, too."

Chuck laughed, only to realize what she'd just said. He stopped laughing and met her amused smirk with a frown. "Wait, your heater is broken in your apartment? This is supposed to be the coldest winter we've had in a while."

"Yeeeah, I know." She bit her lip. "I might end up spending a lot more time at Casey's." She shrugged, seemingly waiting for a response.

"I'm okay with that," he said easily. He didn't have a jacket on, just his black button-up he typically wore, and he'd rolled up the sleeves to keep them from getting various liquids all over them as he worked. So he gestured to the entrance. "Come on in. I'll fix ya a drink."

"Oh! Um… I-I was actually…" She licked her lips, looking surprised, then a little unsure. "I really do have a broken heater right now, but I was teasing about using your heat. I had today off from work and was, um…" She paused, glancing over her shoulder. "I just ate dinner and I was walking to my car. I just happened to be walking by when I saw you out here. I should get home, though."

Furrowing his brow, Chuck stepped closer. "Seriously? You just happened to walk past Casey's Bar while I was helping a wasted customer out to his taxi?" He sent her a dubious look. "Not sure how much of that I believe."

She giggled and shook her head. "Doesn't matter whether or not you believe me."

"I believe you, I believe you." He stuck his hand out placatingly. "But come in for a drink anyway. Just one. It's, like, fifty degrees out here. It'll power you home. Come on." She looked like she was going to say no again. "Just one."

She sighed and smiled off to the side, shaking her head. "Fine. Okay. One."

Chuck clapped his hands together and grinned. "Yesssssss!"

And as she laughed and followed him to the door, he decided that the "perfect" cosmopolitan he'd made Alex (according to her) was not his greatest triumph of the day. This moment—opening the door for Sarah after persuading her to have a drink at his bar—was his greatest triumph of the day.

He did believe her when she said she'd just been walking by on her way back to her car after having dinner. He sort of believed her. There was a niggling voice in his head that wondered if she would've peeked in the window to see if he was tending the bar tonight if she hadn't literally come upon him outside as he helped Joe into a taxi.

Only thing was that he wasn't sure she would've come in if she did see him. He didn't know why, but there was something very hesitant in her when it came to this budding friendship. As if she was holding something back.

Sarah sidled up to the corner of the bar and took a seat on the stool there as Chuck ducked around to the other side and leaned in close over the counter.

"What can I fix ya?"

"This hasn't really been a bitch seat kind of day, weirdly enough, so…I don't know, maybe just a glass of red wine?"

Chuck tilted his head and furrowed his brow. So she'd had a good day? Was that what it meant? Or maybe just a day that wasn't bad… Was that a rarity for her? Were most of her days bad and it was just something she'd gotten used to? He still remembered what she'd said to him that night a few weeks ago, about how her life was like dominoes, all neat and lined up, and how it just took one thing to knock them over, make a mess. He shook himself and did his job. "We've got a new cab in that's really good. Deep, rich flavor. Grapes grown in Sonoma. Interested?"

"Yeah," she drawled. "I'm interested."

The look she gave him put a skip in his step as he nodded and turned away from her, heading over to the wines and finding the right bottle.

He came back with the whole bottle and a glass, setting the glass in front of her and pouring. She had a contemplative look on her face, a little far-off, and then he finished pouring and she seemed to almost snap out of a trance and look up at him with a grateful smile, her blue eyes sparkling in the dim bar lighting.

"Thank you, Chuck."

"You're welcome. I hope you enjoy it. I'll leave the bottle right here. Feel free to just reach over and grab it to pour yourself some more if you run out." She gave him a cute, mischievous look that made him want to ignore the rest of the customers. But he could feel eyes on his back and he knew he had to do his job.

Sarah shooed him off as if she could see his reluctance and he was a little embarrassed she'd seen it.

It was a good half hour or so of bustling around behind the bar, he and Alex both skillfully avoiding one another and having each other's backs all at the same time, before he could even take a breath. He spotted Sarah still sitting there, having refilled her glass at least once that he'd seen. And he nearly made a beeline when…

"Bartowski!"

Chuck turned to look over his shoulder as John came out from the back, a dish towel over his shoulder, apron wrapped around his waist. "Yeah, boss?"

"Need to see ya back here for a minute."

"Got it."

He patted Alex on the shoulder and received a distracted nod as he swept past her and ducked into the back with John. "Am I in trouble?"

It was only half tongue-in-cheek. John had been more irritable than usual the last week or so and because he wasn't the type of guy who liked to have late night chats about his feelings the way Alex sometimes did when it was just the two of them cleaning up after closing, Chuck was smart enough not to push him to confide in him, or even to ask if something was wrong.

"Hmng." John shook his head. "Just makin' sure you got that guy out to his taxi okay. Had a couple folks complain about 'im and I'm thinkin' maybe we need to start putting a cap on what he orders when he comes in." He scratched behind his ear in discomfort.

"Shit. Really? What'd they complain about?"

"Apparently he got mouthy to the guy for no reason. I know he's got problems at home, but…Well, s'long as he keeps it so nobody else is affected by it, I don't mind 'im getting drunk as many nights as he wants. But when it affects other customers, we need to take some steps."

"What do we do? Point him to a therapist or something? Tell him to go to marriage counseling?"

"Heh." John looked uncomfortable. "Maybe next time he comes 'round, I'll just sit 'im down and let 'im know we can only do three drinks per day for 'im. We can't do anything about what he has in other places. But he won't be a menace to 'imself drinking outta _my_ wells."

Chuck nodded. "Understood. Three drinks and that's it. You probably already told Alex, huh?"

John looked uncomfortable again. "I, uh…" He cleared his throat. "You tell 'er, huh? I've got a burger to grill up."

He couldn't help eyeing the older man a certain way.

"What?" John asked. "And hey, while you're at it. Remember this is a respectable establishment. Pay attention to all the customers equally and not just the good-lookin' blonde in the corner. Don't think I haven't seen 'er here before 'cause I have." He pointed to both of his eyes and grumbled, "I see everything in here."

Chuck made a face and tilted his head. "I'm not exactly trying to hide it, there, John."

John grunted and shook his head. "Heh. Sucker."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Rolling his eyes, Chuck's boss sidled up closer and pointed a stubby finger in his face. "I been your age, kid. And I worked a bar then, too. Right after I finished up in the army, honorable discharge for—"

"I know, I know. Bullet lodged in your ribcage. I know."

"That's right," John said, poking his chest. "Beautiful dames like that come in here and pay attention because they know they're gonna get discounts off their drinks. She keeps showin' up makin' eyes at you like she's coming for _you_. Ha." He scoffed.

"You saying she's using me for cheap and/or free drinks?"

"Yep."

Chuck put on a show of thinking about it for a second. And then he beamed cheekily. "Worth it. See ya, boss."

"Sap!" John called after him as he swept into the front again and asked a couple whose drinks were nearly empty if they wanted anything else. When they said no, he went back to the computer to close out their tab. And he just happened to glance over at the end of the bar.

He did a double take when he saw the stool where Sarah had been sitting was empty.

And he sagged.

Of course she wasn't going to sit there waiting forever. She got her wine, she probably paid Alex, and she bounced out of here. He was annoyed with himself, and not for the first time. The other night when they'd parted ways at her car after they enjoyed nachos and beer in a cozy corner of Casey's, he'd berated himself for not just asking for her number. The worst that could happen was that she said no. He'd accept it, lick his wounds, and go back to his life. The best that could happen was that she gave him her number and then he could agonize over whether or not to call her, then agonize over when was the best time to call her and what if he called at the worst moment and she hated him for interrupting something important? And then he'd finally settled on asking for her number anyway, because if she did say yes, and he did get her number, and then he got up the nerve to call her, if she couldn't take his call at that moment, she just…wouldn't.

Simple as that.

And now he'd had her sitting at his bar yet again, and he'd let the opportunity slip by.

Again.

He could kick himself.

"Hey, Romeo, would you freaking hurry it up closing that tab? I've got things to do here."

He jumped and sent Alex a wan smile over his shoulder. "Sorry."

"You can get that sad sack look off your face in the meantime. She just went to use the restroom." He spun to look at her with wide eyes and she chuckled. "O-Okay, stop. Jesus Christ!" she giggled as he dove in to hug her tight and kissed her cheek.

"Bartowski. Back. Now."

They both stepped back from one another and glanced over at John who'd stepped out front at the worst possible moment. But what struck Chuck wasn't the dark look on John's face—he always had a dark look and Chuck knew his boss was well aware of the complete lack of romantic attachment between his daughter and his longtime bartender. No, what really struck Chuck was the even darker look on Alex's face, without that usual eye-rolling _oh daaaad _grousing she usually had. What was going on there?

"Comin'," he chirped. And he rushed to follow John into the back again.

}o{

Sarah sat back down on the stool and nibbled on the inside of her cheek, watching Chuck follow his boss to the back through the swinging door. And she only then realized she was being watched, too. By… what was her name again? Ally? Alice?

Whatever her name was, it would be easy for Sarah to be jealous about the way Chuck had just hugged her tight and kissed her on the cheek. But she didn't quite get that feeling from either of them. And she read people. That was one of the things she did best. Her dad had taught it to her when she was a kid. The irony was that it had taken her until she became an adult to actually be able to read her dad. Before that, she'd thought he was a superhero. Now she just thought he was a conman.

Anyway, if there was that romantic…whatever…between them, she had no right to feel any way about it.

And now What's-Her-Name was making her way over to her, a tentative smile on her face. Shit, was Ally-Alice-Whoever going to be the jealous one? Did she have to brace herself for some drama or something? She didn't come here for this.

"Hi!" the brunette chirped. "I remember you from, um, a couple days ago. Ssssss…" She narrowed her eyes.

"Sarah," she provided politely.

"Sarah!" She snapped. "I'm Alex."

"Alex, hi. Yeah, I remember you." She shook her hand.

"Want another glass?" Sarah looked down at her half full wine with wide eyes, then back up at the bartender. "Sorry, it's just—I usually get a new drink free of charge for anyone who comes in here and has to leave their drink sitting around for whatever reason. To go outside and smoke, or go to the bathroom. Too many assholes roam around in bars and clubs trying to roofie especially women. Takes just a split second."

"Oh. Wow, that's a really good policy." And frankly, Sarah hadn't been willing to finish the wine she'd left in the glass for that reason exactly. As a woman, she had to be careful, but as a spy, she knew that roofie might be something a lot more potent—poison for instance. There were enough people out there who would love to see Director Graham's Wildcard Enforcer dead.

"I've made my dad enforce it with all of his staff. It's important. I'll be right back with a new glass."

"Thank you."

Alex ducked away, got rid of the potentially tinged glass, and came back with a fresh one, doing the honors of pouring the cabernet for Sarah, before setting it down in front of her again. "Hey, listen. I know you saw…that." Sarah's eyes widened as the brunette shifted her weight uncomfortably and winced. "I don't want you to think I'm making assumptions. And Chuck would probably murder me if he knew I was about to say this but…" She leaned in. "That was his reaction to finding out that you'd just gone to use the restroom instead of leaving the bar altogether like he assumed when he saw you weren't sitting here."

Sarah sat back, feeling her jaw fall open. She clamped it shut quick and twisted his lips to the side. She could feel the blush on her cheeks. "Oh. Was it?"

"Sorry. Should I have kept my mouth shut? Please don't sprint out of here. He's actually a really chill, nice dude. I just mean that he obviously likes you. I didn't want you to think there's…like…a thing. He's not my type and I have a boyfriend. Sort of. Maybe. I dunno, it's complicated." She rolled her eyes. "He's like…a cousin or something. Chuck, not the guy I'm maybe seeing. Oh my God gross Alex." Sarah giggled. "I just mean it's not like that. That's why I told you. But now I think maybe I should just shut up while I'm behind."

Sarah giggled and put a reassuring hand out towards the other woman. "I didn't think that, so it's okay. And I'm not…sprinting out of here." She paused. "Is he always this…?"

"Yes." Alex nodded with a smile. "Always." Sarah felt a pleased warmth spill through her. "But he's a little…extra…these past few weeks. And, um…I don't think it's a coincidence that's when you showed up."

"Alex. Tend the bar."

Sarah saw the secret, mischievous look on the younger woman's face dim and anger was there instead. She turned on her heel, her jaw clenched, eyes hard. And she and her father had a long five seconds in which they were in something of a stand-off. Chuck walked out of the back and accidentally hit his boss's backside with the swinging door, and his eyes widened at the semi-growl he got in return.

"S-Sorry. I'll uh…ahem."

Chuck's boss disappeared in the back then and Alex sent her one last polite smile, before rushing about her job again.

And finally, Chuck stepped up to the bar in front of her. The image of him excitedly hugging and kissing Alex's cheek, and now knowing why he'd done it, was there then, and her heart raced even as she blushed and smiled at him.

"Hi. I'm, uh…sorry. I had to just prove to my boss that I'm not—ahem, anyway."

"That you're not what?" she asked innocently, picking up her glass of wine and sipping it. She was mean to do it. She knew. And she did it anyway.

He gave her a bit of a look, but there was mostly amusement there. "That I'm not…" He leaned in. "Uhhhhhh." She raised her eyebrows. "He's sort of protective of his daughter."

"You had to explain to him that you don't want to date his daughter."

He winced. "Which is the truth!" he insisted, thrusting his hand out. "That's not what…that is. He's just…ya know, he's John."

}o{

Chuck felt bad for Alex sometimes. He couldn't imagine his dad hovering over his shoulder for eight hours a day while he was working, dictating who he talked to or didn't talk to. Then again, that wouldn't be a problem anyway because he was male.

"That kind of sucks," Sarah said quietly. Chuck agreed with a nod, raising his eyebrow.

He glanced down the bar then and saw he should check back with a few customers, so he quickly turned back to Sarah and winced. "Listen, I'm going back to tending the bar, but will you just…give me a few minutes? Please? Don't go."

She merely nodded, a shy look on her face.

"Thank you." He covered her wrist with his hand and dashed across to a customer to ask if they wanted another.

And it was another twenty minutes of closing tabs, bidding customers goodnight, and wiping the bar counter, before he was finally able to saunter back to Sarah.

"Listen, I should…probably get home. I've got a lot going on tomorrow. I guess to, um…" She paused, raising an eyebrow. "Make up for having today off. Isn't that how it goes? You get a day off and the next day is absolute hell?"

"Every. Single. Time."

She shrugged. "So…How much do I owe you for the wine?"

"On the house."

She frowned deeply. "What? No!"

"Yeah. I made you come in here for a drink. You were just gonna go home. And then I made you sit here for over an hour while I did my job."

"I hope I didn't keep you from good tips this time."

He laughed. "Uh no, I'm set tonight. I'm in the money."

Snorting, she looked down at her purse and pulled it up. "Please let me pay for all the wine I guzzled."

Something about the word she used made him laugh. "You didn't guzzle. And no, seriously. Don't worry about the wine."

"You gonna get in trouble?" she asked. "Your boss seems…um…"

"He comes off as a total grouch but he's actually a teddy bear." He chuckled. "And no, I'm not getting in trouble."

He wasn't getting in trouble because he was going to slip the drawer the money for the wine himself.

"Okay…" She looked dubious as she slipped off of her stool. "Well, um…Thank you, Chuck."

She was leaving again. And her hair was fixed over that welt he knew she probably still had from being attacked, but it was there…And he couldn't let her go out there alone. It was presumptuous to think he could protect her, but it just made him feel better to see her climb safely into her car and drive away.

"Wait…Before you go…sorry, just-just a second." She nodded and he grinned, hurrying to Alex's side.

"Hey, there are just the two tables and the three people at the bar. You mind if I take a ten?" he asked her quietly.

She looked up at him with amusement in her face and he sent her a pleading look, before he swung his eyes to the side as if gesturing to Sarah behind him, at the end of the bar still, waiting.

Alex chuckled. "Are you kiddin' me, dude? Take thirty." Chuck gave her a droll look. "No, seriously. I like her. She's got an extra something…some spark. Go get yourself a date."

"What? No, I—Okay! Shit! Fine!"

Alex had menacingly lifted the knife she was using to slice some lime wedges as he tried to backtrack. She laughed at his back as he rushed away and took his apron off, hanging it on the hook under the bar and rounding to come and stand next to Sarah.

"I'm on my break and I'm walking you to your car."

She blinked. "That's not much of a break."

"You kiddin' me? This is way better than sitting in the break room reading a comic book." She gave him a look and he didn't know why until he realized what he'd just said. "Damn it, I always do this backwards."

Her look was even more perplexed as they walked out onto the sidewalk and ambled down the street to wherever she parked her car.

"I am supposed to ask for your phone number before I admit to the huge nerd thing. Then you're kinda stuck because you've already said yes."

She laughed and then what he said must have finally dawned on her, because the laughter stopped abruptly and she turned to look at him with slowly widening eyes. "My phone number?"

"Yeeeeeaah," he drawled, ducking his head shyly. "Thing is, it, um, it dawned on me that I keep seeing you at Casey's, at the bar, you know? And every time I see you go, I wonder if I'm gonna see you again."

Sarah raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, twisting them to the side. "I see. And if you have my number, you have a way to contact me if that does happen. Don't like me having that kind of control, huh?"

There was flirtation in the way she said it, but he sensed something underneath that, some underlying…suspicion maybe.

"Hey, no. No, no. That isn't it at all." He chuckled and stuck his hands in his pockets. It was cold and he'd forgotten his jacket, damn it. "It's just that the…Well, this has been kind of nice, but I'd like the chance to just…I don't know, chat with you. Without having to dash away to make someone another Irish car bomb."

She giggled, mostly through her nose, pushing the button to make the light change so they could cross the street. "We do get interrupted quite a lot. But in your defense, most of the time I've been at Casey's Bar, you've been in the middle of your shift."

"True. True! That's what I mean, though. Imagine sitting down for-for dinner or something, away from my job. And we can just talk! Uninterrupted talking. I can tell you about all the comic books I've been reading—damn it, I did it again!" he teased.

She didn't seem put off by it, though.

"Unless that's…not something you're comfortable with," he said, his throat dry. "If you don't want me to have your number, if you don't want to go out sometime for dinner and conversation, I completely understand. I get it. Just be honest with me."

He found her hand on his forearm then and it was warm somehow…even though they were both out in the same fifty degree weather. She stopped him and turned him so they were facing each other.

"You know you can be honest with me, right?" he felt the need to ask when she didn't say anything, just giving him a searching look.

"Yes."

"Good. I'm glad. I want you to be honest. Because that's—"

"No, Chuck. Yes. Give me your phone. I'll put my number in it."

He couldn't read her at all. It was like a mask had slid over her features. But he quickly fished his phone out of his pocket with stiff from the cold fingers and unlocked it, handing it over to her. "That's-That's awesome. I'm…wow. Okay."

She tapped away at his phone, then handed it back. "There."

He didn't know her last name and there was another Sarah in his phone since he hadn't cleaned out his contacts in years, so he just typed her name as Sarah Blue Eyes, then sent her a quick text. It was very middle school of him, but he thought there was a chance the text didn't show on her phone which would mean it was a fake number. But there was a quiet beeping sound from her bag and she dug in it to pull the phone out. She laughed as she looked at her notification.

"Cute," she giggled, turning the phone towards him. He'd sent her "This is Chuck!" with a surprised face.

"Here's my car," she said then as they approached a black Porsche. His eyes widened. Surely she meant the old grey Honda behind the Porsche. Or the maroon minivan in front of it.

But no.

The black Porsche was hers.

Holy shit, he was so far out of his league. Could he run now? Should he go? Should he tell her he just barely made ends meet and sometimes worked double shifts at Casey's to pay off his own car? Should he tell her now so that she could be forewarned and make her speedy exit before this got any further?

"Oh. Wow it's…so…nice."

His throat was closing.

"I know, I know. Perk of the job, though. And I really like sports cars. A lot." She winced.

"Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?"

What in the—?

What was he doing? He'd just been contemplating pulling out of this, spiraling, and his damn mouth blurted out the exact opposite.

Sarah just blinked at him, then smiled a little. A frown came over her face then and she sighed. "Shit, I'm—I mean I can't."

"Oh!" He smiled but it was threatening to waver. "No, I get it. Totally."

"No, it's just—Like I said earlier, it's a crazy busy day for me and it'll be a late night too, I'm sure. My job isn't really…erm, I mean, the hours are kind of all over the place."

He nodded, biting back the question about her job. He wanted to know what she did, what was it that had put her in this place of ennui. But he didn't want to push more than he already had.

"The day after tomorrow?"

Chuck blinked this time. "For dinner?"

"Yeah," she giggled. "The conversation we're currently having."

"Oh, oh right! Yeah! I mean…day after tomorrow! Sure!"

"Okay." She grinned and squeezed his arm, then unlocked her car and went to the driver's side. He followed her slowly, in a bit of a daze. "Text me with details."

He just stared after her, watching her car peel away half a minute later, wondering if she'd really just agreed to a date, or if he just had hypothermia.

* * *

**A/N:** A damn, a date! Things progressing! Please leave me a review. Thanks so much, friends.

-SC


	4. Chapter 4

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary:** A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**A/N:** Sorry about the lengthy pause. Holidays are here and I had work and needed to see Star Wars, and more importantly, my best friend. Thanks for the reviews.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

* * *

The first time she called, she sat there listening to the unending ringing for a full minute and a half before she hung up.

The second time she called, she listened to the ringing for closer to three minutes before she hung up.

She didn't know why she was doing it. Maybe she needed to hear his voice. Or maybe, in spite of all of the bullshit he'd brought to her existence and the fact that he was ultimately the one who set her on this path, there was some stability in that relationship—if only because she could depend on him to never be there when she needed him, she could depend on him to not be dependable, to disappear when things got too sticky.

She waited until the next day to call a third time, wondering if he just wasn't answering, or if he'd already thrown his burner into a dumpster somewhere for fear someone besides his daughter was tracking him with it.

"Just a sec." Agent Walker jumped at the click, followed by his voice. She hadn't been expecting him to answer, but she supposed maybe there was something to the whole 'third time's a charm' thing.

There was the sound of shuffling and then the thump of a door shutting, and then he was back.

"So. What's goin' on? What's wrong?"

She blinked. "I called you. This is the third time, Dad. Why didn't you answer?"

"I just did, darlin'. Something happen?"

"No."

Everything had happened. His ex, the woman who'd given birth to his daughter, was now sole provider of a baby that had a target on its head, a baby Sarah herself had risked her life and career to protect. And maybe, just maybe, she'd gotten a target put on her mom's head in the process.

"So what's goin' on? Just wanted to talk to your ol' dad?"

"I guess so." But she wasn't getting any comfort from it at this moment. "What are you up to these days, Dad?"

"Um… little o' this, little o' that."

"Working a job then, huh?"

"What? Noooooo. There's, uh, there's no job. I'm on the straight and narrow."

"Is that why you're hiding in a closet to take my call?"

There was a long pause. "Shit, you're good. I don't think I taught you that."

"You did and you didn't." She sighed, letting her head fall back to stare at her office ceiling instead of the computer screen. "Look, you're the last person on Earth I should be talking to for guidance because you're a lousy father—"

"Hey, that's not—" He paused. "Okay, fine. I'm not great."

"Nope."

"Well, what's up? What do you need guidance for? You're a good kid, have a good head on your shoulders."

"Yeah, no thanks to you."

"I resent that."

"I'll add that into the record." He sniffed in amusement. "Look, Dad, I'm…I'm struggling with some decisions I have to make. And I, um, I guess I just needed someone totally disconnected from my life, my existence, to bounce it off of."

"I'm not sure if I should be offended or consider that a compliment."

"There's no one more disconnected from my life than you."

"So…not a compliment."

She smirked but it dulled immediately. "I don't know if I want to do my job anymore."

"Ah. Wanna join your dad on the road, huh?"

"No."

"Why not? You always had so much fun! Remember when I bought you those, uh, was it a dollhouse or something? But with bears? You got to play with it in the motel whenever we made a stop, huh? And you had your ol' dad playing with you, too. Remember that?"

"Mhm. I also remember we had to make a quick exit because someone put a target on you and you made me leave said dollhouse behind at one of said motels."

"Ah. Yeah. Um… I can send ya a new one. What's your address?"

"I'm not giving you my address and I'm twenty-six years old, Dad, I don't want a fucking dollhouse."

"Yeeeeesh you're that old now? So that makes _me_ extra old. No wonder my back is sore all the time."

"Dad."

"Sorry, sorry. Go ahead, darlin'. What's the problem with this job you don't ever tell me anything about?"

She resented that he complained about her never telling him any of the details of her life. He had no right to know any of it, and she knew that if he was aware of her being pulled into the CIA (and the way Graham did it), he'd never answer that burner phone ever again. He'd really disappear. He'd probably fear her. She still had the memory from when she was about twelve, after the first time he was arrested and let out, when he said his cousin George was a cop and called him a piece of shit, traitorous scum.

That had implanted itself into her brain and she would forever think about it if she ever got the foolish idea to tell her conman dad that she was a CIA agent.

"It might be something I don't really want to do anymore."

"Ooookay. And you want to do something else?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I'm just…disillusioned. For a while, I felt like I was doing good, contributing to society…" Standing up for her country against despots and tyrants and terrorists. But too many times, the tables had been turned, or the wrong people had shown their true selves and it wasn't a pretty picture. Sometimes she thought maybe she'd killed the wrong people. Rather, she'd killed who Graham told her to kill, but she sometimes didn't know why, and she couldn't do that anymore.

She couldn't tell her dad about the nightmares she had. The times she woke up with blood dripping from her hands, only to _actually_ wake up and realize it was just a horrible nightmare.

So instead, she told him what she could.

"I'm losing sleep. They benched me, kinda. I'm doing something well below my skill level and I hate it, and it's somehow…made me want to work for them even less. In any capacity."

"Even the work that's not below your skill level?"

"Even that."

He made a thoughtful sound. "Come on the road with me. It'll be the challenge you crave."

"You just need a second person for your cons and a blue-eyed, five foot ten blonde would be perfect."

"Why can't it be that _and_ that I wanna hang out with my kid?"

"Dad, I'm not doing that anymore. I can't play that game. I'm trying to figure out if I can do this, if I can walk away from something that's become…a part of me. I know it probably isn't right for me anymore, and I know I'm gonna miss it if I leave. But it just…" She huffed. "I don't feel right anymore. The idea of going back to it and acting like nothing changed inside of me makes me feel…I don't know, anger. I guess."

"Changed? What's changed inside you?"

"The way I see my…company," she decided to say. "The way I see my boss. My coworkers. My future…" She took a deep breath. "I had this…mentor. And he really threw me under the bus, I guess you could say. It's made my job a lot harder. It's made me see everything through a different lens."

"He threw you under the bus? What's his name? I know a guy. Snap your fingers, in three days, they'll find him floating in the nearest body of water."

"Jesus Christ, Dad! Don't say shit like that!"

He chuckled. "Oh, come onnnn. It's funny. Admit it."

She wouldn't admit it.

"Well, look, darlin'…" he continued. "If you aren't happy, change things, finagle things, manipulate, until you _are_ happy. If that means leaving your company or whatever, then leave it. That's my fatherly advice. I don't stick around for shit that makes me unhappy."

She knew. That was why he left her and her mom behind. And how did that work out for him? He was alone, pulling con jobs by himself, probably struggling out there, wherever he was.

"Well, anyway, I, um…" She checked her watch. _Shit!_ "I have to go, Dad. But thanks for the chat."

"Oh. Already? Damn. Just get what you want from me and let me go, huh?"

"Now you know how I feel."

"Ouch."

She shrugged. "Bye, Dad."

"Don't be a stranger, darlin'."

She hung up the phone with some bitterness in her heart. She wasn't the stranger. He was. He was the one who didn't answer. He was the one who only reached out when he needed her to save his ass and send money. Usually for bail. Or start-up money for another con. She only bailed him out of jail once. And she never gave him start-up money. Ever.

That phone call hadn't helped her any except that she at least knew he was still alive. No one had killed him yet.

Anyway, she would think about that later, she decided as she scrambled up from her desk and gathered everything into her briefcase. Chuck was going to be at her apartment in less than two hours and it took her almost half an hour to get home.

}o{

The call came when she was one stoplight away from home.

She would've ignored it except that it was Director Graham, and he'd been radio silent for days. Curiosity was what eventually got her to grab her phone and answer it. "Walker, secure."

"We have a problem. A big problem."

"Ryker?" she asked, and her heart was already in her throat before he even confirmed it. Because she knew. The second his name popped up on her phone, the second she heard the ringing even, she knew what it was.

"The child might be in serious danger, Agent Walker."

She blasted into a right turn, nearly getting into an accident with another car pulling a U-turn, cursed, then put her foot on the gas. She was headed straight for that quiet little suburb on the outskirts of San Diego.

"What happened? Ryker escape?"

"No. But we got him to crack a little. He told us about a guy named Charyn—he kept this guy on the outside in case he was found out, arrested, or killed. His task is to carry out Ryker's dirty work for him if we got Ryker in lockdown, to strike while we had our guard lowered." Sarah cursed again, speeding even faster. She put her phone on speaker, set it down in her lap, and leaned over to pop open her glove compartment, reaching in and grabbing the Glock she kept there just in case. "You still there, Walker?"

"Yeah. Just making sure I'm ready if there's a fire fight." She held the wheel with her thigh and checked to make sure the pistol was loaded. When she saw it was, she let out a breath and stuck it in the cupholder next to her. "So this guy…Charyn is it? He got an idea of where I put the kid?"

"We aren't sure yet. We're trying to catch a scent now and we think we've got one. But you might want to check for a tail, first of all. Secondly, turn off every device you have once you hang up the phone, _except_ for our burner. I'll use that number to let you know if we find him, or if there's trouble."

"Got it," she said. But she couldn't help rolling her eyes a little. As if she hadn't been checking for a tail this whole drive so far. She always checked for a tail, even driving from the office to her apartment. She'd learned that almost a decade ago now.

"If you need back-up for any reason, use the burner."

She knew the codes by heart since she'd had to use them before when she'd gotten into a serious jam. More than once.

"Okay."

"We'll keep you in the loop."

With that, he hung up, and she immediately turned off the cell phone. She tossed it into the passenger seat and went into her purse, finding the flip phone burner all the way at the bottom.

Merging onto the 5 freeway, she turned on the burner and set it on her lap, ready for whatever came her way.

}o{

He tugged at his blazer a little after a quick staccato knock on Sarah's apartment door, trying to straighten it. He was afraid it was sort of wrinkled since he hadn't had time to iron it or anything after his shift at the Buy More, and it had been hanging in his closet for a long time.

It had been a while since he had occasion to wear it.

He got through a whole chorus of _Be cool be cool be cool be cool be cool _about twenty times in a row by the time he realized it had been a while since he'd knocked.

Figuring she might not have heard it, he knocked again, only this time harder.

He stood there.

Waiting.

Checking his watch, frowning a little, perplexed. They'd agreed on six-thirty. It was seven minutes after that. He'd even been a little late.

He knocked again. And when a whole minute passed without the door opening, he stepped up close to the door and put his ear against it. He didn't hear any shuffling or movement inside. There wasn't anything at all.

Maybe she'd gone down to grab her mail since he was a little late, but that theory was disproven when two more minutes passed and she didn't come up. Or, he thought, she'd been trapped at work. Her job seemed pretty demanding and she did imply that her job was really all she had… maybe she had to finish something at work and was now late.

He thought she wouldn't mind if he just texted to see if she was on her way. Then he could at least wait in his car and not outside of her apartment in the hallway like a freaking creeper.

So he sent her a quick text: _Hey! I'm outside of your apt. I knocked and no answer. _

After a few minutes with no reply, he tried to knock again.

It was when he then called her phone and it went straight to voicemail that he became worried. He hung up and shifted his weight indecisively. A door opened down the hallway and a woman who looked to be in her seventies stepped out, eyeing him strangely.

"Hi," he called out with a wave. "Uh, do you know her? Is, um, the girl who lives here, is she named Sarah?"

The woman eased up a bit and shrugged. "Don't know her name. Just know she looks a lot like Jessica Lange in her King Kong days. She drives a Porsche! I don't know what's wrong with you young people. She lives in this dump but speeds around in an expensive sports car like that? You kids need to learn to prioritize!" she chastised, as if he was the one driving around the Porsche. At least he knew she was talking about Sarah. This was her apartment, not some random stranger's.

A little out of his depth, he cleared his throat. "Uh, this doesn't seem like a dump. Seems like a…very nice place."

She just chuckled, looked at him like he was a sap, and ducked back into her apartment, shutting the door.

"Okay, nice meeting you," he muttered, turning back to her door. "Good talk," he breathed.

Deciding that waiting outside of her apartment wasn't doing him any good, he headed down to his car. He climbed in and just sat there, deciding to call her again and leave a voicemail.

"Hi! Sarah! It's Chuck. From, uh, from Casey's Bar. It's, um, it's about six-fifty and I'm at your building. You didn't answer your door or my text, so I thought I'd just see if everything's okay. If it's anything I can help with, please let me know. Like, if you need help or anything. Seriously. Okay, well…uh. Right. Call me back. Okay. Bye."

He hung up and huffed, checking to see if she'd texted him while he was on the phone. She hadn't. So he sighed and turned on his car, deciding to just go home.

It wasn't until he was home, turning on his Playstation and shrugging his blazer off, stepping out of his sneakers, that he thought there was a good chance he'd been stood up. No response, no call back…

An hour later, nothing.

And at about eight-thirty, after a full hour of switching between playing Kingdom Hearts and checking his phone, he was feeling a certain stinging sensation in his chest.

It was so bizarre. Getting a fake phone number? Sure. Getting a real phone number but never having her answer or respond to his texts? Sure! But she set a date and even gave him her home address and apartment number and everything. Who ghosted a person at that point in the process? It seemed pretty far along for her to have changed her mind.

But the fact was that she didn't answer her door or her phone.

And by the time he gave up playing video games and changed to get in bed it was after midnight. When his phone still had nothing from her—no text, no phone call, nothing at all—he had no choice but to assume that she hadn't answered, hadn't contacted him, because she didn't want to.

And damn it, that felt like utter crap.

}o{

Her damn mom hadn't answered her damn phone. And she'd called her at least seven damn times.

Traffic had made an hour and forty-five minute drive into an almost three hour drive, but it still wasn't all that late. Her mom couldn't be asleep at half past seven.

Which absolutely scared Agent Sarah Walker shitless.

She slid to a halt at the curb in front of the house she'd last seen over a month earlier. A house she never thought she'd see again, honestly.

Grabbing her Glock, she stuffed it down the back of her slacks and climbed out of her car, shutting the door quietly and heading up the front steps. None of the front rooms' lights were on in her mom's two-story home, at least not that she could see through the windows. There was only darkness save for the porch light that was on.

Sarah walked up the steps and tried to peer in through the front window. The curtains were drawn, though, and she couldn't even see a sliver of light inside, not even from another room, or anything.

She glanced up and down the street, then quickly made her way back down the porch steps and hurried around the house. She waited until she rounded the corner before she pulled the Glock out, keeping low and out of sight of the windows in case Charyn was already inside of her mom's home.

The darkness, the silence, at seven-thirty, when her mom had a baby to take care of, was really threatening to make the agent go mad before she'd even gotten inside. It took every ounce of training not to just kick the door in and charge. She'd empty her gun into the bastard if he…

Swallowing hard, Sarah tried the back door and found it locked. Slipping her gun down her pants again, she pulled her lock pick out of her leather jacket's inner pocket and got to work. It took her only a moment to unlock the back door, and she immediately had her lock pick put away and her Glock out again.

Slowly pushing the door open with her foot, she led with her weapon and swung her way inside, ready to shoot any stranger.

The light in the kitchen was on. And…weirdly enough…so was the microwave. A mug was inside, slowly turning in a circle as the appliance hummed. She had a feeling Charyn hadn't murdered a baby and the woman guarding it only to pop a mug of water into the microwave for a spot of tea before he got on his way.

Before she could lower her gun, her mother walked into the room, one hand holding her back. She gasped, jumping back when she saw her daughter with a gun trained in her general direction, and she cried out loudly.

"Oh my God! What—!"

"Mom! Are you okay?" Sarah asked immediately, cutting her mom off. "Is anyone else in here? Are you alone?"

Emma held a hand to her heart and shut her eyes. "Lower. That. Gun."

"No. Are you alone?"

"Just Molly!" her mom snapped.

"Who's Molly?" she snapped back, pointing her gun at the ceiling but not putting it away.

"It's what I named her." Her mom's tone was much softer this time.

Oh.

Sarah sighed in relief, then stuck the gun back down her pants and rushed to lock the door, making sure the curtains were covering the windows well enough, peeking out a bit first before she turned back to her mom.

"Thank God," she breathed.

"What's going on, Sarah? You told me that you weren't—" She stopped, freezing.

"What? You hear something?" He was here. She grabbed for her gun again but her mom frowned, holding up a hand.

"Keep that thing away. It's Molly. We woke her up. Listen."

There was a soft, aching whining sound then. Sarah heard it. Not quite a cry. More like fussing. "Oh. Sorry. I thought…There's been some trouble and I thought you were—"

"Just…wait. Hold that thought. I need to go."

The child was crying now, a full-blown cry, and it was coming from upstairs somewhere. Sarah nodded but her mom had already rushed out of the room. And because she wasn't quite thinking clearly, she rushed after her.

"Wait. Mom. Mom! Lemme go first." She took her gun out.

"Oh for Christ's sake! No one else is here! The doors have been locked all night."

"Sh!" Sarah hissed over her shoulder as she took the stairs quickly but carefully. She swung her gun first down one hallway, then the other, before she followed the sound of the cries to a door that was halfway down the hallway, ajar a few inches.

There was a nightlight on inside of the room, which made it easy for Sarah to train it on any man-shaped figure standing in the room. But as Emma strode in after her and turned on the light, she saw they really were alone.

Save for the baby wailing in her crib, her pudgy hands in fists, waving over her head.

"Heeey. Hey now, I'm here."

Sarah put the gun away and watched her mom reach into the crib and lift the baby into her arms. The baby continued to cry. By Sarah's estimation, she cried more than she didn't.

"Is she—Is she hungry?" she could help asking, lamely, raising her voice over Molly's anguish.

"No. Just tired. She hates being woken up." Emma huffed in frustration and rocked the baby with quiet little _shh shh shhhs_. Sarah couldn't blame her. She'd been woken up from a deep sleep before and it had always pissed her off too.

"Here. Just hold her for a second."

"What?" Sarah's eyes widened and she put her hands up, trying to fend off her mom handing the baby to her. "No, I-I can't. I'm not—"

"Oh, stop being dramatic and just hold her. She needs to be changed. Her bottom's wet and she's probably angry about it on top of being woken up. Here."

Sarah had no choice but to accept as her mom forcibly thrust the squirming baby into her arms. "Oh my God. Okay. Okay um…"

"Hum!" Emma commanded, rushing over to the little trunk in the corner of the room.

Sarah hummed the first thing that came to mind and bounced Molly in her arms. The tear-stained face turned up to her, blue eyes meeting blue, and the wailing turned into pitiful, uncomfortable whining sounds and sniffling. What a sweet, heartbreakingly sad little face, Sarah thought. So innocent. A face that had caused her to risk her entire career, her life. Her mom's life even.

A little tear streaked down Molly's red, puffy cheeks and Sarah couldn't help but gently wipe it away. "Aw it's okay. You'll have a dry diaper soon. Then you can…go back to sleep." She leaned in close and whispered, "I'm protecting you now. Don't worry. I'm trained in over eight-hundred ways to kill someone in less than a second."

"What are you saying to her?"

Sarah snapped to attention, straightening her spine. "Nothing."

Emma sent her a suspicious look, but rushed over with the changing pad, a new diaper, some lotion type stuff, and wipes anyway. "Here. On the bed."

Sarah waited for her mom to lay down the pad before she laid her long ways on it. Molly snagged hold of her finger and squeezed, holding it close to her face and gurgling as Emma went to work.

The CIA agent knelt down close and just beamed at the baby, trying her best to keep her ears trained towards downstairs, waiting for the sound of a lock pick or glass breaking. Anything that might signal a showdown was on the horizon between her and this Ryker ally.

"She goes to sleep if you take your fingers and lightly stroke from her forehead, down her temple, and over her cheek. Like this." She demonstrated quickly, then went back to cleaning the baby's backside.

Sarah followed orders, stroking Molly's face gently, watching as the baby's eyelids began to droop shut, her head slumping to the side. When her fingers released their grip, Sarah pulled back again. "Wow," she whispered, sending her mom a look. "Didn't take you long to figure that trick out."

Emma smirked, finishing fastening the clean diaper and buttoning the onesies shut over the pudgy legs again. "It's what worked on you when you were this age."

She didn't know how to respond to that.

"Here, I'm putting this away. Can you put her back in the crib?"

"Will being moved wake her up?" Sarah hissed in concern.

"Just don't jar her too much."

She gaped after her mom and sighed, rolling her eyes, before ever so gently scooping the bundle into her arms and tiptoeing back to the crib. She didn't know how her much shorter mom could easily reach down over the railing of the crib to set this baby inside without dropping her the last few inches, honestly.

But she managed it, and Molly only shifted a little in her sleep, her eyelids fluttering, and then she stilled again. Emma stepped in close and slipped a pacifier into the baby's mouth, and cute little sucking sounds interrupted the silence.

Emma nudged her and they left the room together.

Sarah swallowed hard and sighed once they cleared the landing and were headed downstairs. "Sorry I just…barged in. And…woke her up. Sorry I scared you."

"What is this? What happened, S—?"

"Sarah," she cut in quickly. "Don't say the other name. Just…Sarah for now. Please." Her mom nodded, a quiet look of discomfort on her face. "The man I protected that baby—_Molly_ from has someone stationed on the outside so that if he was arrested or killed, someone was still out here to finish his dirty work."

"What?" Emma put a hand to her heart and grabbed Sarah's arm tightly. "Is he coming here? Does he know where Molly is? Does he know she's here?"

"I don't know," Sarah said, shaking her head. "My superior called me and warned me. I raced here as fast as I could, just in case. Have you—Have you noticed anyone suspicious when you've been out? Going to work or-or running errands? Anything that made you feel uneasy? Anyone who made you feel nervous?"

Her mom thought hard, her brow furrowed, and she shook her head. "No, not-not that I noticed. Nothing I can remember."

Sarah nodded and looked around the entryway of the house. "All I can do is wait here and see if the prick shows up."

Emma nodded, looking nervous. And that was an understatement. "And what do I do?"

"First thing's first. Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"My phone? Oh!" She shrugged. "Sorry. I turn off the sound when Molly's sleeping and I left it charging in my office."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I give you a child to protect who is being chased by a traitorous CIA agent who means to murder her and you leave your phone charging in the other room for hours on end, Mom? Really?"

Her mom shrugged helplessly.

"What's done is done," Sarah huffed. "Which room has the least accessibility from outside. Less windows, only one door to get in."

"My office. It has a small window by the desk and only the one entrance."

Sarah nodded.

"Have you had dinner? Are you hungry? I have some fried chicken in the fridge."

Her daughter sighed heavily, moving through the house towards the office, ducking into rooms to make sure windows were locked, drapes hanging heavily over every last inch of the glass. "Weirdly enough, Mom, I'm not all that focused on my stomach right now. I want to make sure none of us die."

"Oh, come on. You can't eat? You think you can concentrate on blowing up that bastard if he comes here when you're on an empty stomach?"

"Not right now, okay? We need to stay in your office until I know for sure he isn't coming here tonight."

Her mom shrugged.

"Mom, this is serious. These men will kill us without blinking an eye. This the office?"

Her mom was pale as she nodded weakly, gulping. And she followed her inside. She kept the door open so that she could hear Molly just in case.

"This is what you do every day?" her mom asked. Though it didn't sound as much like a question as much of a quiet realization. "Hiding from killers, traitors. Walking into buildings with a gun. Fearing for your life. This is what you do."

Sarah nodded, plopping down in a plush chair and slumping a bit, even as she took her gun out and let it hang down over the arm of the chair. "Yeah. And I'm really good at it."

"Hm. You were always good at everything you did. On the first try, too. I got you on a bike when your were five, and without taking even one single spill, you wobbled just a little, then took off like it was nothing." She chuckled and shook her head. She sobered quickly. "I didn't want this for you."

"Yeah, well…a little late for that."

She was appreciative that her mom didn't seem to see the merit in pointing out that it had been Sarah's own stupid decision.

"Why Molly?" She swallowed, not liking the fact that her mouth was acting before she could think, stifle, filter.

"Hm?" Her mom sat across from her, looking a little uncomfortable, pressing her hands together and pinning them between her knees.

"The name. Why'd you name her Molly?"

"Oh. I-I don't know. I like it. I think I must've been watching a TV show or something, and I was holding her, a few days after you left her with me…and the name was mentioned, and I just thought, you know, 'I like that.' So…? Molly." She smirked self-deprecatingly. "Not an exciting story, I know."

Sarah just shrugged. "It doesn't have to be exciting. She has a name, and a home. She's safe."

"Is she?" Her mom turned to look up at the ceiling, above which was the room where they'd set Molly to go back to sleep.

"Yes. She is. I'm making sure of it." Sarah waggled her gun back and forth. The way her mother's gaze fastened on it made her feel like shoving it back behind her where she couldn't see it anymore. There was a sudden pang of shame that coursed through her, and she resented it, glowering down into her lap for a few seconds before she looked back up at her mom again, fighting down the urge to stick up for herself, to stick up for her job, to tell her mom all of the good things she'd done with this gun and with her CIA badge.

But the bad things were festering in her chest like indigestion, and she swallowed thickly instead.

She couldn't really defend any of it. She couldn't get her heart behind that right now.

She was literally sitting in a dimly lit office in her estranged mom's home, with the orphaned baby of a foreign diplomat sleeping upstairs…waiting for an accomplice of a traitorous ex-CIA agent to burst in and try to kill them all.

How could she defend any of that?

Sarah pushed herself to sit up straighter, suddenly extremely tired. "I'm not letting anything happen to her…or to you. I promise."

There was a small smile on Emma's face, even though she wouldn't meet Sarah's gaze. "I know you mean that. But sweetie, you can't protect everyone from every single thing. This…madman? Sure. But you can't protect her from life. You can't protect me from it. As hard as you're trying to protect yourself from it, eventually that'll be a losing battle, too."

Sarah frowned at her mom, trying to think up some defense, denial. Anything. But Emma continued before she could. "You're cutting yourself away from this, away from me and her, away from everything but the CIA…It's going to catch up to you. Maybe not today or tomorrow. But someday. And that makes me very sad."

Before she could respond, her burner buzzed in her back pocket. She shot up to her feet and grabbed it, holding a finger up for her mom to be quiet, and she answered. "Walker, secure."

"Graham. Secure. We've got him, Agent Walker. Agents Harris and Eckerstrom cornered him in East LA at a hotel."

Relief flooded through her. "They're bringing him in? Good. You can use him to find out if Ryker's got anymore accomplices out here."

"He's dead."

She sat down slowly. "They killed Charyn?"

"They had to. He tried to escape when they moved to bring him in."

Sarah wasn't there. She wasn't part of the arrest. But she could think of a lot of different tactics she might have used to stop an escaping perp without them ending up in a body bag.

"Walker? Did I lose you?"

_Not yet._

"No, sir. Still here. Do we know who else might be out here?"

"We're ninety percent sure there's no one else. We had our psych analyst there watching Ryker when we told him about Charyn. His last hope of seeing that child dead is gone. Agent O'Brien is sure of it."

Sarah nodded even though Director Graham couldn't see it. She didn't trust Agent O'Brien, or anyone else, that they were out of the woods. Ninety percent wasn't one hundred percent. And she had some decisions to make.

"So you're saying the child and…family I left her with…they're all safe."

"Yes. We're sure they are. Charyn didn't have a beat on where the child is. They collected all of his belongings, his notes, his phone logs. He was completely in the dark. He'd only been able to find you. We think his next move was to go after you, get the whereabouts of the child from you."

He'd most likely planned to take her to some basement somewhere and tug her fingernails off of her fingers until she told him where Molly was, where her mom lived. She would've died first.

"Okay. Thank you, Director."

"Agent."

Sarah hung up and set her burner down on the chair next to her. "That's it."

"They found the guy?"

She nodded slowly. "They killed him."

"So he won't be bothering us then, I take it," her mom said wryly.

Sarah shook her head and sighed, rubbing her hand down her face tiredly. "I'm-I'm going to get going then and—"

But before she could get past her mom's chair, the woman reached up and held onto her arm, standing beside her and looking up into her face imploringly. "S—" She swallowed. "Sarah. Please don't run out of here right now. I might not have been in your life as much as I should've been, and maybe I'm completely missing the mark, but you're still my daughter, and I-I want you to know you can talk to me."

For a long second, Sarah just wanted to fall into her mom's embrace and cry. About a lot of things. All of the things. To tell her about her nightmares, the things that haunted her on the daily, the way she felt like she was part machine, part human, and that the human part was starting to falter under the pressure of the machine. Her fear that if she stayed in the CIA, soon there'd be no humanity left in her at all. She'd be every bit the Wildcard Enforcer, the Ice Queen, that everyone said she was in the halls of Langley. In the cubicles at the LA analyst office.

She didn't fall into her mom's embrace.

She just nodded quietly. "I know. Thanks, Mom."

"Stay the night. I have an extra room down here. I'll make the bed up for you and you can leave tomorrow." She paused. "Where are you driving to?"

Sarah thought about the phone call with her dad, the way she'd always resisted telling him everything, and how easy it was for her to trust her mom with certain things. And before she could think about it, she said, "LA. I'm stationed in LA right now."

Emma wisely stayed quiet, just nodding. And then: "Please stay."

"I don't want to put you out."

"You're my daughter," Emma insisted, giving her arm a tug. "You aren't putting me out. Come on, let's go to the kitchen. I'll put a kettle on and warm up some of that chicken."

It did sound good, and her stomach was growling. So she nodded. "Fine. But just for tonight."

She was tired. Driving an hour and forty minutes back to her apartment in Los Angeles sounded awful. And she liked the idea of just sticking around here for a few more hours to make sure the coast was clear.

Thirty minutes passed and Sarah found herself sitting at her mom's kitchen table with an empty plate in front of her, a mug of hot tea warming her hand as she wrapped her fingers around it.

"Something happened when you were talking on the phone earlier."

Sarah looked up at her mom as she came back to the table and sat down across from her. "What?"

"In your face. I don't know, your eyes got hard."

She nodded slowly and licked her lips. "I guess I just didn't like that they killed him. Even though he is the lowest of the low, someone who'd willingly kill a defenseless baby. And it's less about him, it's less about who he is and what he was planning to do…more the…principle of it. The idea that agents will kill someone before capturing them…" And the fact that she'd done it before. She'd been following an order. And that hadn't made the sick feeling inside of her go away any faster.

"What's going on?" Her hand twitched, as though she wanted to reach out and put it on Sarah's arm that rested on top of the table. She didn't do it, instead folding her hands in her lap.

"It's what I told you before. The man who caused me to come to you a few weeks ago and ask you to raise Molly…he-he had someone else he stationed out here who would finish the job for him if he was captured or killed."

Sarah knew what her mom had meant, and she was pretty sure her mom knew that she knew.

They were both silent for a moment, and then Sarah huffed and cast her gaze to the side. "What are you going to do about Molly?"

"What do you mean?"

Maybe she was just projecting but she thought she heard a bit of disappointment in her mom's voice, as though she was hoping Sarah would open up and talk to her as she suggested she could.

"Homeschooling? Montessori? Charter, public, private school?" She smiled a little. "Kids can be little jerks sometimes. What do you do if she comes home and tells you some kid pulled her hair?"

"I go to her school and grab the teacher by their throat and tell them to protect my kid."

Sarah giggled. "I like that answer."

"Thank you." Her mom chuckled. "I already have everything set up for her. Birth certificate, health insurance…those are the two biggest things. Just waiting for the snail mail."

"How did you manage that?"

She got a secret look on her face. "Do you think I'd inform on myself to a CIA agent?"

Sarah widened her eyes. "Not even the CIA agent who brought you the child in the first place?" They exchanged amused looks. "Think you'd be able to tell said CIA agent about it if they weren't a CIA agent anymore?"

She played with the handle on the mug, deciding to pointedly not meet her mom's gaze. She wasn't sure she wanted to see what was there.

"Is that something that's on the table for said CIA agent?" Emma asked quietly, searchingly.

Sarah took a deep breath. "It…might be."

"Oh." She was being careful not to let anything show on her face, Sarah knew. "What you did with Molly…you broke rules, huh?"

"I was supposed to bring her to the CIA. But I didn't want that for her. They know I'm estranged from you," she felt uncomfortable saying that out loud and her mom looked for a moment like she'd struck her across the face, but that was replaced by a mask just as quickly, "so I knew they'd never try to find you, or think I brought her to you. They aren't looking for her. They've given up on that front and are trusting that I put her somewhere safe, somewhere she can be taken care of and raised to be a normal girl." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I've been benched to oversee analysts in LA, but I'm not being fired or kicked out of the CIA." Emma was in the process of nodding when Sarah delivered the coup de grâce. "I'm thinking about leaving."

Her mom froze, eyes widening. "Leaving? The CIA?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat and squirmed. "This was my mentor at one time, the agent who taught me a lot of what I know, who oversaw my first few missions. Seeing him do something like this just…I don't know if I can trust the institution itself anymore. Or anyone working within it. Or…or myself, if I stick around for much longer."

"You seemed … disillusioned a few weeks ago when you showed up with Molly. Scared and disillusioned."

"I'm still both of those things. I just…can't…live with the…" She huffed. "The knowledge of the sorts of things that happen, things the average American citizen couldn't possibly even begin to know or understand."

"Are these all things…you've done?"

"Yes," Sarah said, looking her mom square in the face. "It's going to break me. This…this almost broke me." She pressed her hand to her forehead and leaned her elbow on the table, trying to keep from letting everything she'd had bottled up for weeks spill out. Now wasn't the time. She couldn't just show up on her mom's doorstep, use her to vent and cry and let everything out, and then disappear again. It wasn't fair.

She almost snapped, the floodgates nearly opening, when she felt her mom's hand on her arm, squeezing gently.

"It's…it's a hard life you chose. It isn't what I wanted for you."

"I'm not so sure it's what I want for myself anymore."

"I can understand that."

"But they need me. I'm one of the best they've got. I'm good at it. Really good at it. They know when they send me out to do something, it's gonna get done and then some. It's why they benched me, to give me space, get me back to where I was before Ryker, before Molly." She took a deep breath. "But the space has made me start thinking. And I'm wondering if I even wanna go back."

She kept imagining what it would be like to live a life in which she wasn't constantly trying to keep a tight grip on whatever humanity was even left in her.

Her prospects were bleak if she stayed. But she also wondered if it was already too late.

That part she wouldn't admit to her mom. It would only upset her, and she knew Emma wouldn't even know how to respond to that.

"That's a decision you're going to have to make for yourself. What's holding you back? Besides that they need you."

Sarah shrugged. "What if I can't do this…normal stuff anymore? I've been slinking around in shadows, keeping away from people, pushing attachment and everything besides what I need to do for missions away from me for way too long, Mom. What if I can't swing it?"

"Well? You're being given this time to figure things out, aren't you? Away from all of the spy stuff, the missions. Use it." Sarah blinked and her mom shrugged. "Do whatever it is you consider…normal stuff." She waved her hand. "Shop for groceries. Go to the beach. You have nice beaches up near LA, don't you? Take a road trip up the coast. Or…sign up for a painting class."

The CIA agent made a face, then chuckled. "No, no. You're right. It's a…good idea."

"I have a few of those." Emma smirked. "But know that no matter what it is you decide to do, you're going to be all right. One thing your…father did…" She raised her eyebrows, her lips forming a hard line, her features freezing. "He made you into a survivor. Not in the way I would've hoped, but…there it is."

Sarah nodded slowly. "Yeah. He did."

She was a survivor.

A survivor with a big decision to make and absolutely no idea as to where she was leaning.

* * *

**A/N:** I know y'all thought there'd be a date here, but this interlude really really really needed to happen. And don't worry, I haven't left any of you out to dry before and I don't intend to now. Please review. Thanks!

-SC


	5. Chapter 5

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary:** A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**A/N:** Morning after Christmas. I did not manage to get it all out in time for Christmas. But hey, there's still New Year's Eve! Listen, thank you for reading. Thank you for reviewing. It's appreciated. Enjoy the chapter! I'm fond of this one.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

* * *

As much as he could've used the tips working the bar tonight, he was glad he had a day off—away from Casey's and away from the Buy More. It was just him, his pajamas he had no intention of changing out of, and his laptop.

Nothing kept his mind off of crap like an in-depth coding session. He was thinking about starting a new video game, something simple and fun. Addictive. He'd become a millionaire off of it and then women wouldn't stand him up anymore.

He chuckled at himself, popping a Milk Dud into his mouth and munching, staring at the retro cartoon he'd stopped on while watching television. His financial status had nothing to do with his being stood up last night. And he knew it.

He just didn't know what had caused Sarah to ditch out on their date like that without even a text or phone call. Nothing last night, nothing this morning, nothing all damn day. In his mind, it was further proof that she just didn't want to go out with him, rather than anything happening. She would have told him by now if there was some emergency or something.

And he still felt like crap.

He'd been ghosted before. He'd been ditched before. He'd been dumped, cheated on…

He'd even had a date cancel on him and he'd gone to the movies alone since he had the tickets and saw her drive past in the passenger seat of some other dude. It had been a fancy convertible, and he'd just stood there on the sidewalk waiting for the light to change, shaking his head. It had been like a badly written movie.

But none of those times had felt as…gut-punch-y…as this one. He'd been so sure that he'd connected with Sarah. She was the one who kept finding him. She kept showing up at Casey's. She sought him out.

And then he had to admit he really didn't know her. She was sort of enigmatic, kept a mask on that he'd noticed every so often, even while she opened up. Maybe that had been the drinks that first night he met her.

John's words kept coming back to him, too. The way he'd called him a sap, told him how he'd been used by women before when he was bartending. Women who wanted free or cheap drinks. And Chuck felt like an idiot telling his boss that it was worth it.

Was it?

He guessed not.

His phone rang and he hustled over to grab it. He was a sap. He was such a sap. He'd been sure "Sarah Blue Eyes" would be on the screen. Instead it was his sister.

He answered. "Hey, sis."

There was a long pause. "Wow, okay, hi. Did I wake you up or something? At…three o'clock in the afternoon?"

"No," he said. "I've been awake for a looooong long time. Ask me if I'm still in my pajamas, though."

"I don't have to ask. If it's your day off, you're still in pajamas."

"DING DING DING!"

Ellie sighed. "What's going on? You sound off."

"Nah, I'm not off. I'm fine." He smiled so that she could hear it in his voice and think everything was completely fine. "Totally gooood."

"Chuck."

"I'm fine! Seriously! Just doing some coding and it's frustrating me. Same ol' same ol'." That wasn't entirely a lie since he actually did mean to do some coding and it usually did frustrate him.

"Okay, fine. I'll drop it. Anyway, I wanted to just talk to you about something…important."

Oh, great.

"Oooookay," he drawled. "Everything okay, orrr…?"

"Yes! Everything is okay. Just…Okay, this is going to bum you out and I feel really bad but… Devon and I are coming up on our sixth anniversary, you know, since we met after med school Christmas break—"

"Yeah, I know the story."

"Right." He was lucky she chose to ignore his wry tone. "Well, Devon asked me if I'd want to go on a trip for Christmas with him this year. Instead of the usual Christmas thing where we all sit around and eat, watch Twilight Zone… We're gonna go up the coast. One of his parents' friends has a house on the beach in Santa Barbara. Just us two…"

"Oh. Oh! You mean you're abandoning me for Christmas. No, that's cool, that's cool. I totally get it. I don't need my only blood family with me for the holiday. I'll just be alone, that's cool." He chuckled to let her know he was teasing as she whined his name.

"Chuuuuuuuck. God, I'm sorry. I feel like an asshole. You know what? Why don't you come too?"

"Uuuuhhh, no. Nope. Thanks, but no," he said emphatically.

"Why not? It'll be a new experience for you!" Chuck glared at the phone and he could almost hear her wincing. "No, I heard it. I heard it. That was super patronizing. Sorry. I'm sure Devon would love for you to come."

"I know. Captain Awesome is the best. And thank you for thinking of me. But I'm going to be just fine, El. I'm glad you two are stepping away from the hospital for a while and getting some alone time. It's deserved."

And even though he was okay with this new development, he felt a bit of an ache in his chest. His sister deserved a vacation and a romantic holiday getaway. And he could hug the crap out of her boyfriend for giving this to her.

But it did mean he would be spending Christmas alone for the first time in his life and that was just kind of…weird, wasn't it?

Casey's would be closed on Christmas day, and he was working double time and a half pay for Christmas Eve. He'd probably just be tired on Christmas day anyway and want to sleep in or watch a lot of TV.

"What about Morgan?" Ellie asked then. "Why don't you two weirdos hang out?"

"He's still in Mexico and will be until February."

"Oh, right. I work so hard pushing his existence out of my mind, I totally forgot he's in Mexico with his family for a few months."

"Haaaa," Chuck snarked. "You're mean."

"I know. Hey. Listen, I really am feeling bad about this. I hate the idea of you being alone on Christmas."

"It's just a day, El! It'll be a day off like any other day off. Maybe I'll go to church." They both laughed and he shook his head. "Look, I'm not bummed about it, so you don't be bummed about it. Just take your vacation and enjoy it, okay?"

"Okay. Fine. But only because getting a whole week at Christmas for BOTH of us was such a miracle, having it go to waste would be a damn shame."

Chuck laughed. "Uh, yeah!"

"Okay, well, I'll let you go. I have a shift soon. You sure you aren't super bummed? You aren't going to be really sad on Christmas? Ugh, I'm fretting about it."

"Don't fret about it!" he exclaimed, laughing. "I'm good, Ellie! Really! I'm glad you're getting a nice vacation! You deserve this. Do not ruin it by freaking out about me being alone. I'm good. I promise you."

They finally hung up a few minutes later after he did his best to persuade her he'd be fine.

But Ellie's phone call and the knowledge that he'd be alone on Christmas, combined with being ghosted by a really interesting, great woman who he'd thought he'd made a real connection with made him want to just go lie down in his dark room and blast Elliot Smith or something instead of coding.

He didn't do either, though.

Instead, he just slumped over on his couch and laid there with his face pressed into the cushion, sighing.

}o{

She pushed the heavy curtains to the side and let the morning light spill into the room. Her limbs felt like weights attached to her body from not sleeping well. She had gotten up along with her mom to help feed and/or change Molly every two hours.

She took most of the late night shifts and her mom had taken the morning shifts, tiredly plodding into the room to pick the crying baby up and feeding her formula. It had put her back to a few weeks earlier, hiding out in that hotel room in the middle of the night, terrified that the decision she'd made would ruin everything, calling the number she hoped her mom still used, and begging her for help.

Molly seemed older now, even though it had only been about a month.

She had more hair at least. And she'd seemed heavier as Sarah'd held her last night. And a whole lot easier to change; she'd squirmed a lot less than Sarah'd remembered before.

Peering out into the street in front of her mom's house, she saw a kid walking by with his beagle, a fetching toy in one hand, a leash in the other. Was this "normal stuff"? Should she get a dog?

She rolled her eyes at herself, then moved away from the window to change out of her mom's pajamas she'd borrowed, the pants only going down to an inch above her ankles. She'd gotten her well above average height from her dad. Definitely.

Freshening up a bit in the bathroom, she finally emerged to find her mom holding Molly in one arm and working the coffee machine with the other. Emma was talking to the child as if she were an adult, teaching her how to put the filter in, how to measure the coffee grinds, where to pour the water.

Molly just yawned wide and blinked up at her new caregiver, before her blue eyes switched over to spot Sarah.

She smiled at the baby and came all the way into the kitchen. "Good morning."

"Oh! She's awake! I decided to let you sleep in."

"Oh. Thanks." She smiled.

"You were never good at mornings. That's one thing I'll never forget."

Sarah rolled her eyes and shifted her weight, feeling a little shy with her mom now…in the light of day, with the imminent danger behind them. She felt vulnerable in this kitchen with all of its natural light. She felt raw. Like she'd said too much last night.

"So, um, I should…I should probably get on the road." She checked her watch. "It's after eight."

"Wait." Her mom pressed the button to start the coffee and crossed to her, holding Molly in both arms again. "Just wait until after traffic dies down a bit. Around ten or so."

"This is Southern California, Mom. Traffic never really dies down."

Emma snorted. "No, it does. It will. Just wait. I'll…fix you something to eat. Stay a bit."

Sarah sighed and glanced around the kitchen, then she bit the inside of her cheek and nodded. She wasn't comfortable here. She wanted to get in her car and think about everything.

She wanted to be alone. She wasn't quite so vulnerable when she was alone.

They sat and ate silently, sipping their coffee as Molly was stuck in a small portable crib that Emma sat beside her, every so often reaching out to rock it back and forth. It made Sarah wonder what her mom must've looked like, going through the aisles of…some baby things store somewhere, trying to pick things out for Molly, including the strange monstrosity she had her in as they ate.

It was a little after ten when Sarah opened the front door of her mother's home and stepped out onto the porch.

Emma followed her, her brow furrowed, lips pressed tightly together.

It was the second time they'd stood on this porch together, in very similar circumstances to this, in only a little over a month.

Sarah turned to face her mother and took a deep breath, folding her hands together in front of her and shrugging. "Well…thank you for letting my stay overnight, and um, for feeding me."

"A mother is supposed to do things like this for her daughter," Emma said quietly.

The CIA agent nodded and then looked back at her Porsche sitting there where she left it the night before. Then she silently and lamely gestured to the car, as if to signal she was going.

"Here. Take her. Just…you know, to say goodbye."

Sarah couldn't stop her mom from putting Molly into her arms without dropping the baby, so she just held on for dear life instead. She looked down at her, then up at her mom, and back down again, feeling unsure and shy about speaking to her in front of someone else, let alone her mom, staring at them both with hopeful blue eyes.

"Molly, I'm leaving you in my mom's charge right now…but when you're old enough, I-I need you to take care of her, too, huh? Can you do that?"

Molly reached up and put her hand on Sarah's mouth. The young woman giggled and munched on the baby's fingers, making her squeal and pull her hand back down. Sarah grinned at the adorable face and sighed.

Then she looked up at her mom and swallowed hard. "I'm not sure when the next time will be that I'm able to come back. But for now it…it might be best that I put some separation here. Just for a little while until we figure out whether or not there's anyone else out here working for Ryker. I don't want to lead anyone here. To her. To you."

Her mom took a step closer. "Even if you make the decision to leave the CIA?"

Her throat was dry. "Yeah. Even then." She shifted Molly in her arms, uncomfortable with this conversation. "I don't know for how long, but I-I need to prioritize your safety, Molly's safety. When I'm sure we've neutralized the danger…" She said it in a calculating, spy mode sort of way, and she knew her mom most likely saw right through her.

Which made her feel like a fool.

She needed to go.

"I understand…Sarah." Emma smiled, then let Sarah put Molly back in her arms. Sarah couldn't help leaning in to kiss the straight blond hair on the baby's head.

"It won't be forever." She shouldn't have promised that. "I just need to…figure my life out. And make sure Ryker doesn't have another accomplice out here."

"Of course." Her mom nodded, and she was afraid tears might start to surface for one or both of them, so she took a few steps back, then moved down the stairs. With one last smile over her shoulder, she walked down the path towards her car.

She got in and let out a shaky breath, but then she saw her mom making her way towards her, still cradling Molly in her safe embrace.

Sarah rolled her passenger side window down and her mom knelt a bit to look at her squarely in the eyes.

"Take the advice I gave you last night, Sarah. About trying normal things you never had time for, never allowed yourself to do while you were…you know, out there. All these years. See how it goes. Then you can make your decision, huh?" She smiled hesitantly. And then it was like a lightbulb went off over her head. "Hey, maybe go out on a date!"

"Ha!" She reached out and squeezed her mom's hand as the woman thrust it into her car. And then she waited for Emma to step back before she drove away. She only glanced in the rearview mirror once, and then she turned off of the street and Emma and Molly were out of sight.

But before she could let herself feel the mess of emotions she knew were coming after such an intense twenty hour hours, her mother's words settled in her brain. And the panic and outright fear that her mom might be murdered by Charyn was no longer clouding her brain.

_Maybe go out on a date!_

Sarah cursed so loud, it reverberated off the interior of the car and hurt her ears. She winced and cursed again, not quite as loud this time.

As she pulled to a stop at a red light, she let her head fall back against her seat and scowled at the roof of her car.

She had ditched out on her date with Chuck last night. She'd forgotten about it completely in her fear that Charyn was gunning for her mom as well as the child she'd risked everything to save a month earlier. She'd forgotten until literally just this moment, almost sixteen hours after the time they were supposed to meet.

God, she was a total fuck-up.

Her plan to follow her mom's advice about seeing how she did with "normal stuff" had stumbled right out of the gate.

She slammed her head against the seat a few times and groaned.

The car behind her honked and she looked to see the light had changed. "FUCK YOU, TOO!" she yelled into her rearview mirror, putting her foot on the gas, zooming forward with a passive aggressive roar of her car, and continuing her journey back to LA.

She wondered what Chuck must have thought when she wasn't at her apartment last night. He must've stood there knocking for a few minutes. Who said yes to having someone pick them up at their apartment for a date and then they just weren't there when they showed up? Oh God, what must he think of her?

She would be so angry if someone did that to her. He probably hated her now and she'd fucked everything up.

Slamming her hand against her steering wheel, she groaned again.

But as she turned to look at her bag in the passenger seat, she saw the phone poking out from under it. She waited for another red light before she snagged it and powered it up.

As she merged onto the freeway to get back to Los Angeles, she held the phone up and watched as the screen lit up with a text, three missed calls, and a voicemail.

"Shit," she breathed, rolling her eyes at herself and thumping herself in the head with her palm a few times for good measure.

How had she just completely forgotten about the date? About Chuck?

She'd had such good feelings about it. She'd gotten to a place where the good feelings had eclipsed the nerves, the wondering if she was being selfish and whatever other negative feelings had come with her agreeing to go on this date.

Rolling her eyes at herself again, she thought about how he'd called her just as she'd gotten to work yesterday. She'd ducked into an empty office and took a few calming breaths before answering. Like a giddy teenager. He'd offered to pick her up at her apartment and without thinking about the implications, or the fact that not a single soul knew where her apartment even was let alone had stepped foot in it, she'd agreed.

Now he knew where her apartment was but hadn't stepped foot in it because she stood him up, and God, she really hated herself a lot. If she hadn't lost her mind with worry so much, if she'd kept her cool the way a spy was supposed to, if she hadn't let her deep connection to both that baby and her mother cloud her judgment, she would've remembered her commitment she'd made to Chuck. She would've texted or called him.

And even though she really didn't know him at all, even though she knew almost nothing about him, she was sure he'd be understanding. There was an emergency. She'd be back soon. They would pick another night. That'd be that.

That was something a regular girl would do, though. And she wasn't a regular girl. She'd failed her first test already. How was she supposed to do this whole normal life thing without the CIA and the spying when she failed her first damn test?

She pulled her phone to her ear and listened to the voicemail he left first. "Hi! Sarah! It's Chuck. From, uh, from Casey's Bar. It's, um, it's about six-fifty and I'm at your building. You didn't answer your door or my text, so I thought I'd just see if everything's okay. If it's anything I can help with, please let me know. Like, if you need help or anything. Seriously. Okay, well…uh. Right. Call me back. Okay. Bye."

Sarah thumped herself in the head with her phone and groaned yet again. She imagined he'd gotten there on time, which meant he'd seriously waited in the hallway outside of her apartment for twenty whole minutes before deciding to call her. And who even knew how long he'd waited there even after that?

Was he just extremely sweet? Or did he like her that much?

Either way, she felt like the biggest asshole in existence.

She looked at the calls she'd missed. He'd called at six-forty-five, then again at six-fifty, and that was when he chose to leave a voicemail. And then he called again this morning at eight-thirty, while she was sitting at the table eating with her mom and Molly.

Finally, she pulled up the text. He sent it at six-thirty-nine. _Hey! I'm outside of your apt. I knocked and no answer. _

She wasn't sure how to take the fact that he'd only texted her that one time.

But she couldn't help wondering if he thought texting her again would be pointless, that she obviously wouldn't answer it, that she didn't want to hear from him or see him, that she'd changed her mind about going out on a date with him, that maybe she didn't want to go out on a date with him in the first place.

Agent Walker cursed again and pushed her hand through her messy blond locks, her finger catching in a tangle. She barked, "Ow! Fuck!" and yanked her hand out of her hair, hitting her steering wheel again.

A feeling of helplessness and frustration came over her, the reality starting to sink in that she was a hopeless case, that she wasn't worthy of a normal life, that she was broken. And she let one angry tear fall. But she wiped it away quickly.

This wasn't her way. She didn't do this.

She needed to focus on the most important thing, which was that Ryker and his errand boy Charyn couldn't hurt Molly, and they couldn't hurt Emma. Neither of them would be hurting anybody.

Blinking any semblance of tears away and taking another deep, calming breath, she found she still couldn't help feeling really, really sorry that she'd screwed up what could've been something good and normal, if only for a little while if it wasn't viable in the long run.

Shame coursed through her. She shouldn't have even messed with him in the first place. She should've kept her eyes and her hands to herself. But the fact of the matter was that she hadn't. She hadn't done that. And in spite of regretting it, she'd still harmed him. She'd done injury to an innocent, good guy. And she couldn't just let bygones be bygones.

She turned her phone in her hand thoughtfully, and then she set it down resolutely.

He deserved more than just a stupid phone call. This was her second test. Instead of ignoring the entire episode and silently wishing him well for the rest of his life, shrugging off the crap she pulled with him, instead of texting or calling him to apologize, she needed to talk to him face to face. He'd earned that. She wasn't taking the easy way out.

She was going to freaking pass this damn test.

}o{

Passing the second test was proving to be harder than she thought it would be.

Because when she walked up to Casey's and stepped inside, pulling her hair that she'd put so much extra work into in front of her shoulder, a cursory glance through the place told her he wasn't there.

Shit. Was this the one night he wasn't on shift?

Sarah wandered a bit closer to the bar counter, moving onto her tiptoes to peer over the heads of the numerous customers sitting on the stools. Maybe he was cleaning something or leaning down to get a bottle out of the fridge?

But there was only a bartender she hadn't seen before, a woman who looked like she was in her early fifties maybe.

She was going to turn to leave and count her losses, maybe try some other night, when she decided to just suck it up and ask the woman tending the bar. There was a chance he was on break, after all.

Sidling up against the bar, she waited for the bartender to catch her gaze and wander over with a welcoming smile. "Hi, hon. What can I get ya?"

Whether Chuck was working or not, she found she did need a drink. "You have Dos Equis?"

"Sure do."

The woman pulled back to get it but Sarah called her back. "Wait, excuse me…Uh, sorry. I just… Is, um, is Chuck working tonight?"

She tried not to notice the glint in the woman's eye as she sized her up a little, an almost knowing look, like she…recognized her. "Not tonight, hon. It's his night off."

"Oh. Okay, thanks." She sighed when the woman turned back to get her beer.

She finished it slowly, paid her bill, and gave the bartender a generous tip, before she got up to leave, her proverbial tail tucked between her legs.

"Hey, hon!" She turned back to see the bartender leaning over the bar. "You want me to give him a message?"

"Oh! Um, no, that's okay! Thank you, though."

"All right, you have a good night." The woman winked and Sarah left, wondering for a moment at the particular look the older woman had given her when she asked after Chuck.

Was it possible word had traveled through the staff at Casey's Bar that there was a certain young woman who kept coming back to talk to Chuck? That she'd been coming in for Chuck specifically for a few weeks now?

Did they know she stood him up the night before? Crap, she was really glad she left such a big tip. But the woman wasn't rude or short; she didn't give any indication whatsoever that she saw her as the asshole who agreed to go out with her coworker then wasn't there when he came to pick her up.

Although, he obviously hadn't been to Casey's since she stood him up because he wasn't working last night, nor was he working tonight. Maybe he just hadn't gotten the chance to tell them yet.

Maybe he'd kept the date a secret from them altogether.

That'd be preferable.

She needed to apologize to him as soon as she could. She had to find him and talk to him in person. She was too embarrassed to call, and she'd be even more ashamed of herself if all she did was text him.

So she hurried back to her office and slipped inside, nodding to the security as she stepped inside, turning to let the door seal shut again and scanning her credentials to get into the elevator.

When she got to her personal office a few minutes later, she locked herself inside, shut the blinds, and turned on the lights, before going to her computer and doing a sweep for Charles Bartowski. She wasn't sure of the spelling of his name, but she'd heard Casey call him that and she did guess work.

It didn't take much time at all for her CIA search engine to pull up a few hits for Charles Bartowski. A couple of social media accounts that he hadn't used for a while, some mentions on Stanford University's website…she wasn't sure if that was someone else, so she chose not to follow that lead. And as curious as she was about him, she found it easy not to dig inside of his old social media accounts.

Instead she kept looking until she found the name Bartowski attached to a "Chuck" on the website for the Buy More's Burbank location. Burbank was close enough. And he had told her his name was Chuck technically, not Charles. She zeroed in on that entry and clicked through. "Nerd Herd Supervisor: Chuck Bartowski" it read under "Store Manager: Michael Tucker"… His picture wasn't there, but he'd talked about working retail, hadn't he? She decided this had to be him.

She took a snapshot of the address with her phone then closed everything out and locked up her office.

Sure, her superiors might not appreciate what she'd just used her high-level CIA access to do—find out where a guy she was interested in worked—but it was already done and they would never know.

}o{

Agent Sarah Walker had faced some of the worst mercenaries, terrorists, and crime lords the world had ever seen, she'd killed more people than she cared to count, and she'd been shot…twice.

She'd gone into all of those situations with more confidence than she was going into this situation, sitting in her car in the crowded Buy More parking lot in Burbank, California with a fussy laptop stuffed inside a messenger bag sitting on her lap.

She checked her watch and rolled her eyes with a huff of annoyance. She'd been sitting here out in the cold, the rain having dwindled to a mere drizzle, for a good twenty-five minutes. This would be the perfect moment to go in, so that her second-rate laptop she'd replaced when she was assigned to the LA location by Director Graham didn't receive water damage on top of everything else.

But still she sat behind the wheel and tried to decide how she was even going to approach him. And that was if he was even working today.

How much of the truth was she going to give him? She didn't want him to hate her, but she also couldn't tell him that her ex-mentor in the CIA went off his damn rocker and tried to kill a baby and make her his accomplice, that she'd betrayed him to save the baby, murdering a table full of people in the process, only to disobey orders from her superiors to leave said baby with her estranged mom, and then he'd come back to try to kill her which was why she'd shown up at the bar injured a week or so ago, and that even from behind bars, her ex-mentor was able to put a hit out on her mom and the baby again, and that was why she'd missed their date, to protect her mom and a baby with an assassination target on its back.

No, she definitely wasn't telling him the truth.

"God damn it, you coward. Just go," she snapped at herself, and she opened her door and swung out of the Porsche gracefully, slamming the door shut behind her, shouldering the messenger bag, and walking along the wet pavement towards the Buy More entrance.

She prepared herself for what was going to be an insanely awkward conversation.

And in spite of steeling herself for what was to come, she was still very surprised by what she saw a few minutes after she entered the store.

She made a circuit around the place, looking for a curly-haired man who stood maybe four inches above six feet, if she were to guesstimate. But not only did she not see him, she could barely find any employees. In fact she found none as she slowly made her way back to the help desk looking thing in the middle of the store.

She didn't see anyone wearing green shirts, save for a few cardboard stand-ups of models in green shirts that were promos for holiday deals, Santa hats propped on their cardboard heads.

That was when she stumbled onto the strange scene.

A good chunk of customers were crowded around where the wall of TVs was located in the Buy More. They seemed to be watching something. Waiting.

A freckle-faced redhead in a green shirt bustled past her with a "Scuse me!" and slid to a stop near a large sound system.

Frowning in curiosity, she quietly and skillfully made her way to the front of the crowd and saw a little girl in a pink leotard, standing all alone on a makeshift stage in front of the wall of TVs, looking petrified. She hugged herself and looked around at all of the strangers, supremely uncomfortable.

What in the hell was going on?

"Ready?"

Sarah blinked. She recognized the voice.

"Yep! Ready to roll." A woman wearing heavy makeup and torn fishnet stockings ending in a pair of black Doc Martens knelt behind a camera. She sent an okay sign over towards the corner. Sarah turned to watch as Chuck pushed his way past a panicked-looking man, squeezing his shoulder as he went.

"Fernando! Sound?"

"Yeah! S'good!" the redhead called back from the sound system.

"All right!" Chuck rubbed his hands together, a big grin on his face. But then he looked down at the little ballerina and must've noticed for the first time that she looked ready to sink into the floor she was standing on, her knees looking apt to buckle. He frowned, his brow furrowed. "What's wrong?" he asked then, crossing to her side and kneeling down to get on her level.

"I dunno. I don't think I…can. There're a lot of people."

"Nervous, huh?"

She nodded.

"Hey, that's okay. I get it. But didn't ya just do this in front of a whole auditorium full of people?"

She shrugged and looked down at her feet, wiggling her toes in her soft shoes. "It was different."

"How?"

"I'm always in the back. They say I'm too tall to be in the front. I block all the other girls." She frowned and ducked her head in shame and embarrassment, her chin tucked into her chest.

Sarah felt a rush of empathy. She'd always been taller than everyone else when she was growing up, including most of the boys in her classes. And she'd been made to feel like a freak by some of the meaner kids.

None of that mattered, though, because Chuck put a gentle hand on the ballerina's arm. "Can I tell ya a secret? But you have to promise not to tell the other girls…"

She nodded eagerly, listening intently.

"Real ballerinas are tall."

A smile blossomed on the girl's face, and her shoulders seemed to pull back, her spine straightening, chin lifting.

"Ready?" he asked, grinning kindly at her. She nodded and he gave her a high five. "Okay, knock 'em dead!"

He dashed off to the side, out of the camera's view, and yelled, "Three, two, one…Action!"

The classical music filled the room as more customers wandered over to see the little ballerina rise up onto her toes, lift her arms elegantly over her head, and start dancing with much more grace than Sarah admittedly expected from someone so young.

She glanced over to see Chuck pat the man who'd been so panicked before on his back. Instead of the panic, though, there was only pride and affection. She assumed he was the ballerina's dad. And she thought maybe she had an idea of what was going on here.

The fact that they were recording the performance made Sarah think someone important had missed the girl's original performance onstage, and they were recapturing it now and recording it for whoever it was to watch later.

Why the Buy More staff were getting involved was puzzling to her, but the employees in shirts matching Chuck's and the fishnet girl's shirts, and the green shirts, were all watching the performance with big smiles on their faces.

Sarah swung her gaze back to Chuck who stood with his arms crossed at his chest, beaming. He glanced over at the fishnet girl and gave her a thumbs up, which she sent back, and then his brown eyes moved right past where Sarah stood.

He froze. She kept watching him, preparing for impact. His eyes oh so slowly shifted back towards her until they stopped on her. His jaw fell open, his arms limply falling to his sides.

She could see Chuck's Adam's apple bob, and then he smiled a little and held up a finger for her to give him a second. She nodded back, smiling, then turned her smile to the end of the performance.

The ballerina posed, dropping her chin, and the music ended. The applause erupted and Chuck broke from his dazed staring at Sarah to clap enthusiastically, sticking his fingers in his mouth and whistling.

The girl's dad rushed over to sweep her up and congratulate her as Chuck came over to Sarah. But before he could acknowledge her further, he turned to the fishnet girl. "You get it, Anna?"

"Yeah. All good."

The crowd was dispersing around them as they stood there then, just a few feet away from one another. She took a moment to take in his appearance, his black Converse with the white laces, black pants, white, short-sleeved button-up with the pocket protector and the name tag with his face on it and his name printed underneath.

"H-Hi," he breathed. "I'm—I-I don't know what…um…" He huffed and shook his head.

"My laptop," she blurted, lifting the messenger back with wet spots dappled on it from the rain. "Um, it—I don't know, it's fussy."

"O-Oh. Oh, right. Sure. Let's…um, follow me to my…lair. I mean my, our Nerd Herd desk. I'm—Don't mind me, I'm being…er, me." He gestured for her to follow him and she did, all the way back to the Nerd Herd help desk in the middle of the store. He leapt over it easily, as if it was something he'd done hundreds of times before, and then braced his palms on the desk between them. He popped a small screwdriver out of his pocket protecter and held it up awkwardly. "How can I help you?"

"It's…the, um, the mousepad. It's fussy. The cursor jumps around a lot. Hard to click on stuff."

He nibbled on the corner of his mouth thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. "I bet I know what it is. Um, can-can I see it?"

This was already so uncomfortable and she felt like she was way out of her depth as she nodded vigorously, pulling the messenger bag open and tugging the laptop out, setting it on the desk between them. She opened it, punched her password in, and turned it towards him. "See how the cursor is…jumping around, freezing…not really picking up on my finger touching it…See?"

"Hmm…Yeah. Yeah, I think I know what it is. May I?"

She nodded and let him have control. He lifted it into his hands and held it close to his face, surveying the mousepad.

"Yeah. Yep. I can see it. It got a little jostled, maybe if you carry it around with you a lot…you know, it happens. But the actual piece here is sort of jammed a bit crooked so the mousepad thinks you're just pressing on it in this one spot constantly. See, it's stuck right here under the corner. Which is why it doesn't register my finger well when I do this." He swiped his finger across it and it didn't register.

"Oh. Oh, I see. What do I do?" God, she didn't even care about the stupid thing. She needed to woman the hell up, channel the cold, hard spy she knew she could be, the Ice Queen, and just freaking get it over with. She needed to stop stalling now that he was here in front of her.

"I'm just going to wiggle it out from under here and get it positioned right. I've done it dozens of times before, so don't wor—"

"I am so sorry, Chuck."

He did a double take, still rummaging in his desk for what she assumed was whatever tool he would be using to wiggle the mousepad back into place. Standing up to his full height, he swallowed hard. "Oh. Right. I-I guess I, um—What happened the other night? I-I mean, what, um, what was that?" He winced, smoothing the front of his shirt nervously and clearing his throat.

"I completely…Shit, I was in such a state." He frowned and she shook her head, sighing. "I was on my way home from work to get ready for our date when I got a phone call. My friend was in trouble." She felt herself pause before saying friend, so close to telling him it was her mom. But she didn't feel comfortable telling anyone she'd been anywhere near her mom, for any reason. It wasn't safe. "And I raced over there as fast as I could and I just…" She huffed, deciding on the truth. "Chuck, I forgot. I'm so so so sorry, but I just forgot about the date. I was so panicked and scared for my friend and I got caught up in it. I feel like such an asshole."

She shut her eyes and pressed her fingers to her head.

"Oh. Is your friend okay?"

Sarah opened her eyes and looked at him, her eyebrows raised. That was the first thing he asked? Really? Whether her friend was okay? Was he even real? And of course he chose right then to drop his screwdriver. It clattered onto the desk, then rolled to the floor as he clambered to try and catch it. He failed. And then he stood up and cleared his throat, just going into the drawer to take a new one out rather than pick up the one he dropped. He was real. He was human. A really, really good human. A better human than someone like her could ever deserve. That much was all too clear to her now.

"She's okay. She's good. Not completely out of the woods but she…will be. I stayed there overnight just to make sure and it wasn't until I got into my car to come back home yesterday that I remembered. About the date." She let her very sincere shame come over her features and she shook her head. "God, I'm really sorry. That's not something I typically do. I was just…so worried. Everything else went…" She made a whoosh sound and gestured with her hand near her head.

"Oh." He nodded. "No, I-I get it. That definitely deserves priority. I understand why—I mean our brains are inexplicable and when there's a traumatic…something…it has a way of pushing other stuff…out. Yeah." He scratched the back of his head. And then he must have belatedly realized her laptop was still on the counter in front of him and needed fixing. Maybe it was just her imagination, but he seemed a little relieved to have something to do. Something he was good at and understood.

God, she could relate to that. She really could.

To the point where she was starting to wonder if she shouldn't just stay with the CIA. She was good at it, she knew it…

"Why didn't you just call me when you remembered? Or-or a text even, if you couldn't talk on the phone for whatever reason." He cleared his throat, looking up from his task. He was working with skilled precision, taking the screws out and removing part of the laptop to expose the mousepad.

And he'd asked her a question, hadn't he? A really good question.

She huffed in frustration at herself. "I was…really ashamed. And a coward. Both. And I persuaded myself that you wouldn't want to hear from me after I ditched out on the date." He gave her a "seriously?" look that she was positive she deserved and she winced, then rolled her eyes self-deprecatingly. "I know. I know, trust me. I didn't…react to any of this the way a, um, a regular girl might. But I decided I at least owed you an apology. A genuine…big apology."

His hands stilled and he stood up to his full height again, setting the screwdriver down and leaning with his palms on the desk. "You could'a still called. I just figured I'd been ghosted. Super-ghosted. I mean, you sent me to your apartment. I thought for a sec it was some random address or something and I'd been duped, but one of your neighbors came out and said you look like Jessica Lange in King Kong, so I figured it really was you, 'cause you kinda do look like Jessica Lange in her King Kong days…but-but more beautiful. That's not the point. The point i-is, uh, I just didn't know if something had happened to you or…or what. You know? I figured it might be an emergency but when you just didn't…say anything…" He shrugged, going back to the laptop.

"You figured I decided I'd rather not go out on a date after all and I just…hid from you."

He winced and shrugged. "I mean, look at it from my perspective. It's not exactly a rarity that I've been ghosted. I've been stood up. I've been given fake numbers. I really can't blame you all for it; you say no to the wrong guy's face and who knows what'll happen?"

She huffed and smiled a bit. "Has it really happened to you that often?"

"Nah. Not _that _often. But enough to know it when I see it."

Nodding, she reached out to play with one of the pens from the pencil holder next to her. It gave _her_ something to do. "I'm really sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I really screwed up this whole apology too. And it felt—God, I'm probably doing this all wrong. I should've just called from the car yesterday while I was driving home. Immediately. But instead I thought you deserved an in-person apology so I waited until last night and went to Casey's Bar."

"Oh." His eyes widened. "Oh. You were there last night?" She nodded. "Shit, I didn't work last night."

"Yeah, I know. Someone else was there. Not, um, not Alex, someone else."

"Kathleen. Yeah. That's John's wife. Alex's mom."

"Oh! I didn't…realize. But anyway, you weren't…there. I should've just called you then."

He nodded. "I wouldn't have minded a phone call."

"No, of course you wouldn't. That would've been the normal thing for a person to do. It's what I should've freaking done. But…" _I'm a complete and total mess. I'm not normal. I don't know what to do. I suck at this 'normal stuff'._

She didn't say any of that.

She wished she had the courage to. But she didn't know him. She couldn't even let it all out with her mom who knew about her involvement with the CIA, who knew at least some of the violence she perpetrated on others, who knew she was broken, at least somewhat.

"You didn't. You waited 'til today and came—" A look came over his face then, as if something occurred to him. "Hey, wait. How'd you know you'd find me here? I mean, I don't think I ever told you I work at the Buy More."

Sarah bit the inside of her cheek. _I used a CIA database on my CIA computer in my CIA office._

"You said you worked retail and I did a search for your name and found your name on the Buy More website. It…took a while." She didn't even know why she added that. She was overcompensating. She usually had such a good handle on lying to suit her needs. Not just from her training and experience with the CIA, but from the time she spent on the road with her con artist of a father.

He nibbled on his lip and narrowed his eyes, wiggling the screwdriver between his fingers. "Some might call that stalking."

Sarah crossed her arms, blushing a bit. "It's not stalking. A quick search on the Internet isn't stalking. It's not like I found your address."

She did find his address but she was careful not to look too hard at it. She only remembered two of the numbers in the address of his apartment complex. That was all. She wasn't stalking. This wasn't stalking.

He smirked. "Mhmm."

She frowned at him and shuffled her feet in embarrassment. "Look, bottom line is that…I-I'm sorry that I missed the date, that you were out in my hallway knocking on my door. I'm sorry I didn't just call you when I realized I'd forgotten the date with all the shit with my friend. I'm sorry I wasn't a proper grown-up about any of it. I'm just really sorry, Chuck. I didn't do any of this right."

She heard a click and looked down. Chuck had shifted the mousepad and apparently clicked the laptop back together.

"That should do it," he said, and she felt acutely the absence of a response to her apology. She couldn't blame him for it. "Lemme just screw these in again…"

God, he was really cute when he was concentrating, his brow furrowed, tongue sticking out between his lips.

"Oh. Okay. Well, um… Thank you."

"Don't thank me 'til we check it out." He set the computer down on the desk again and turned it towards her, powering it back up. And they stood there, waiting in awkward and uncomfortable silence, while it took its time powering up.

"Hey." She looked back up at him and he met her gaze earnestly. "Thank you for coming all the way down here, to Burbank no less, to apologize for standing me up." She winced and he shrugged. "You had a good reason, but it's what you did. You did stand me up."

"No, you're right. I did. I feel awful about it."

"I know ya do. I can tell. It's okay. And I forgive you. Of course. Life is…crazy, things happen. I completely understand it."

"I'm sorry I didn't just call to tell you I had an emergency."

He nodded and went back to the laptop, turning it so that she could punch in her password. "S'okay, Sarah. You're here now and I appreciate it."

The desktop appeared, with its stock snowy mountain landscape background, zipped and password-encoded files…

"Try it," he said, gesturing.

She reached over and moved her fingers over the pad. "Oh my God, it's okay now. It's working!"

He shrugged, a small smile on his face. "Figured that was the problem. It usually is."

"Holy shit, you're really good at this."

"Well, I am a nerd." He grinned and gestured up at the Nerd Herd sign. "I've been doing this crap forever. I'd be worried if I didn't fix it."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, reaching over the desk to squeeze his bicep. "Seriously, this is…wow. It's like a brand new laptop."

He chuckled. "Sure."

"Well, um…how much do I owe?" She pulled her purse around and took her wallet out.

"Oh, no no. No. Nothing." He waved it away.

"What? No, you fixed my laptop. I'm not…" She gave him a warning look and he smirked a bit mutely.

"No, it's…Nerd Herd policy. We ask for payment if we use our products, our parts, or if we have to order parts to do the install or the fix. I'm not just being nice, you really don't owe anything." He finally bent down to pick up the screwdriver and stuck it back in his pocket protector.

She pursed her lips and turned them to the side, not sure what to say. So she just put her wallet away. "Okay. I guess if it's Nerd policy."

"Nerd _Herd _…"

"Right, Nerd Herd policy. Sorry." She nodded and smiled at him, picking up her computer and shoving it back inside of the messenger bag she brought it in.

What did she say now? What did she do?

The distraction of the broken laptop was gone. He'd fixed it. It was put away in her bag and hanging from her shoulder.

"Chuck, thank you." She played with the zipper on her jacket. "Not just for fixing my laptop, but for…" She huffed. "Being so nice about this. Understanding. After I was such a jackass."

"You weren't trying to be a jackass." He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, holding up a finger. "Wait, no. That wasn't what I was—What I mean is…you weren't a jackass. I understand. I'm glad—I'm really glad your friend is okay now. That's the most important thing."

She nodded. "It is. But…" Sighing, she nodded and adjusted the strap on her shoulder. "I could've handled this better. I should've. But anyway, I'll, um, I'll let you…get back to what you were doing." Which was apparently giving children confidence and going out of his way to help people if what she walked in on was any indication.

And now she was going to walk away from it.

"Yeah. Uh, okay." He nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Thanks for coming in. And for, um, for the apology. You didn't hafta—"

"Yeah, I did," she said steadily. "I really did have to."

He smiled a little and nodded again, and with one last wave, she turned and walked down the center aisle of the Burbank Buy More, headed for the exit, cursing herself the whole way for wanting to turn back. She owed it to him not to turn back.

She was a complete and total mess.

A normal existence wasn't for her.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope everyone who celebrates has had a lovely holiday season. This IS a Christmas story, it's just that I couldn't post it in time for Christmas, so hope y'all are still in the Christmas mood when the Christmas-y chapters roll around! Thanks for still being here. I'll see y'all soon. Please review!

-SC


	6. Chapter 6

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary:** A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**A/N: **Hello, here I am again. Here's the story again. And there's more coming after this one again. Again again again. Thanks for the reading and the reviews.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

* * *

_Thunk!_

"Aw, shit."

Chuck sighed and sent the flattest look he could muster at the end of the dart sticking out of the stucco wall beside the dartboard in the break room of Casey's Bar. It wasn't like there weren't plenty of holes in the wall from where other employees had missed badly.

But something about this miss felt like another shit cherry on top of the shit sundae he was living.

He was feeling sorry for himself, his midday shift over, his half-eaten dinner sitting on the table next to him, and the way things had gone down yesterday trapped in his brain. He'd slept awful the night before, thinking about all the what ifs and forcing himself to suffer over what might've happened if he'd said something differently.

"What're you still doing here?"

Chuck turned to look over his shoulder as Alex walked in, taking her purse off and shoving it in her locker, starting to unbuckle her long winter coat.

"Eating."

"Yeah, your shift ended, like, an hour ago. Don't you have friends or, like, a video game console at home?"

"Haaaa. Yes, I have both of those things, thank you. I just felt like sitting here because it was quiet. With _was_ being the operative word."

She snorted. "Oh, so sorry I have a shift starting in five minutes and need to be in your break room for two seconds," she snarked. Her teasing look fell though and she gave him a longer look instead, surveying him. Just like her mom had a habit of doing. "Okay, Curls, what's going on?"

He rolled his eyes at the nickname. "Nothing is going on. I'm just thinking."

"You missed the dartboard by a mile. You average bullseyes on that thing."

"I wasn't concentrating, that's all."

"Mmmmhm. Well, whatever it is, and whoever it's about…" She paused dramatically. "…she's worth it."

He turned to give her a look. "Huh?"

Rolling her eyes, she hung her coat in her locker and grabbed her apron, walking around to stand in front of him. She put her hands on her hips and gave him a look that seriously reminded him of Kathleen. God, this kid was barely twenty-two and she already had the mom look down. "Whatever it is you have to do to get a date with that super hot, cool blond woman who was coming in here until a few days ago? Do it."

His eyebrows shot up as he dropped his feet he'd had propped on the chair across from him and sat up straight, his jaw dropping. "Uh…what?"

"Your pride doesn't matter. Grovel if you have to. It's worth it. Don't let this opportunity pass you by."

"You don't even know what I'm thinking about." He narrowed his eyes at her as if she was talking gibberish at him, even though she somehow had pegged it dead center.

"God, men are such idiots." She groaned. "She's so into you and you're just tiptoeing around wondering if you should ask her out. The answer is yes. Yes, ask her out. You're stupid if you don't ask her out."

He had to chuckle. He was going to let her have it, though. She had no idea that he had asked her out. That Sarah'd agreed to a date with him, but that she'd then stood him up for an emergency with her friend being in danger or something—an excuse he sincerely believed—and then she'd shown up at the Buy More two days later to apologize in-person, and then she'd left again without either of them bringing up the idea of rescheduling the date, trying again.

"I'll take that under advisement, Alex, thank you."

"You're welcome." She tied her apron around her waist and walked past him, slapping him on the shoulder. "Go get her, nerd."

Even though she hadn't given him as much credit as he thought he deserved, Alex was right in that he needed to ask her out.

Again.

He couldn't just not try. She'd sought him out at his other place of work, actively searching to find out where it was. Which meant she'd been listening to him when he talked about himself, and she'd cared enough to remember he said he worked retail. And she'd scoured the Internet for his name, found it on the Buy More page, and even though she probably wasn't certain he was the same person, she drove all the way to Burbank to walk in there and apologize.

It had been such a sincere apology, and she'd been so honest with how much she'd messed up through the whole process. She really should've called, or even texted, as impersonal as especially the latter might have been. At least he would know she hadn't meant to stand him up, that her friend had been in trouble and needed her help.

He would've totally understood. And they could make a plan to go out on a date another night when she was finished helping her friend. It would've been completely fine.

Instead, she hadn't said anything because she'd been ashamed and embarrassed, and she'd just shown up out of the blue at his job two days later.

She'd definitely made some mistakes. But she was human. She was real. She hadn't made any excuses for herself. She'd owned the missteps and she'd apologized, genuinely. And he understood. Morgan had gotten hit by a car while biking to work a few years ago, and while it had only really wrecked his bike more than he'd gotten hurt, when Ellie called him from the hospital, he'd ditched out on helping John with inventory. He hadn't even thought about the bar until after he found Morgan was merely scraped up with a broken finger and he had taken an hour or two to recalibrate his panic and worry into relief. John had understood then. And Chuck understood Sarah's reasoning now.

There was no reason for him to be upset at the idea that she'd forgotten their date, especially since he didn't know what had happened to her friend, what she'd been going through while racing to her aid. And he wasn't about to ask and pry. He had no right to know the details.

Bygones be bygones and all that, he really wanted that date.

She was great, her mind-blowing beauty aside. Her sense of humor was topnotch, and he couldn't help finding her ability to handle alcohol as well as she did…kind of hot. She also seemed like she had a good heart.

But there was something else about her, something he couldn't quite figure out. She was different from anyone else he'd ever met, with an air of mystery that felt…well, shadowy was the only word he could think of. Like she had a reason to keep things close to her chest. Not that she needed a reason; he was a stranger, after all.

And when she did open up that first night, he was sincerely lost and confused about what she was trying to say. And then she'd close up again as if she'd said too much.

He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to know her in general.

A woman like Sarah should, for all intents and purposes, make him feel like she was way out of his league, like she wouldn't give him the time of day. And while he was pretty sure she was way, way out of his league, there'd been a warmth that was quick to settle in the air between them. Maybe not sparks or electricity at first, just a warmth. And he liked that. A lot. He felt like she got comfortable talking to him, and that was good, wasn't it?

Because he was comfortable talking with her too.

Damn it, he just wanted to buy her dinner and talk with her. Away from Casey's, away from the Buy More, away from…wherever it was she worked that was giving her so much trouble.

He wanted to know what that warmth was.

And he needed to be a damn grown-up. Alex was right. It was worth it to just suck up his nerves, grab his big boy pants, and ask her to go out with him again.

God, maybe he was just a glutton for punishment, but he really felt like he was stupid for not stopping her from leaving the Buy More yesterday and asking if she might be free to reschedule their date that wasn't. Worst case scenario would've been that she said no, and then he would at least know where things stood and he'd leave it alone. He'd feel like shit, but he'd been rejected before. He'd deal with it. He'd had worse…and from women who seemed not nearly as incredible.

Chuck was on his feet in a flash, going to his locker and grabbing his jacket from inside. He threw it on, cleaned up his plate from dinner, and brought it into the kitchen where John was still bustling around cooking.

"The hell you still doing here?"

"I was _eating_, what's it to you?" he rushed out, scrubbing his plate and sticking it in the rack when he was finished.

"_Now_ what are you doing? I'm trying to grill the perfect portobello mushroom and you're distracting me!" John barked.

Chuck rummaged through the cabinets, digging for anything he could use, his mind going a mile a minute. "A-ha!" He pulled a smashed-looking but still presentable red ribbon out and held it up in triumph. "What d'you think, John? Is this too Christmas-y?"

The other man thrust his hands out with a _what the hell_ face, his spatula dripping onto the floor. "It's Christmas, ya moron. What d'you mean, is it too Christmas-y?"

"Yeah, I know, but I don't want it to seem like a Christmas thing. It's just a…You know what? I'm talking to the wrong person. Whatever. It's fine. Do we have any more of those bottles of Malbec? The Argentine—"

"What for?"

"For a woman, John."

He said it as though it should be obvious.

John frowned. "Why don't you just bring her flowers or chocolate like a normal person?"

"Because I'm trying really hard to be extraordinary, here, John, and you're making it super difficult."

"That sounds like a personal problem, kid. I ain't got nothin' to do with it."

Chuck scowled at him. "Where's the damn Malbec?"

John growled and pushed through to the room they'd made into a wine cellar of sorts. He grabbed the bottle and thrust it into Chuck's hands. "I'm taking it off your damn paycheck," he grumbled. But then he stopped halfway out the door. "But I can't deny your style going with the Malbec."

He was gone, leaving Chuck alone with the bottle, the ribbon, and a grin on his face.

}o{

He fixed the stupid ribbon for the thirty-seventh time as he walked down the hallway.

It was empty, and he was glad. Part of him was worried that neighbor of hers would pop out of her door again and demand to know what in the hell he was doing in her hallway. He was really hoping for all of this to go smoothly.

He was trying to walk away from this situation with another date on his schedule, specifically a date with Sarah.

Chuck stopped in front of her door and took a deep breath before he raised his fist and knocked.

It was only then that he looked down at the bottle of Malbec and realized just how terribly he'd tied the ribbon around the bottle of red wine. It was so poorly done, which was probably why it kept falling off so easily. And part of him wished he'd taken the bottle to Ellie, even with how busy she always was these days with her shifts at the hospital, and had her just do it.

But then he'd have to go through the whole rigmarole of whom it was for, why, how he met her, what happened with her standing him up, the awkwardness at the Buy More…

Chuck didn't really want to relive all of that. He wanted to move forward and secure at least somewhat of a future with this woman—if only said future lasted a few days, for now.

The door opened just an inch or two at first, and one blue eye peeked through the crack. He smiled a bit lamely as the one blue eye widened, and she swung the door all the way open, gaping a little. And then she smiled, almost as if in spite of herself. "Chuck…hi."

"Hi. Um." He cleared his throat and waved. And then it spilled out of him and he had no way of stopping it. "I'm sorry, just showing up out of the blue like this and knocking on your door. I probably shouldn't have come to your home. I'm only just now realizing it. But you wanted to do the in-person thing to apologize to me after missing our date, so I thought I'd do the in-person thing for asking you out again. Can I come in out of the hallway, please? I don't want your neighbor to see me and yell at me again."

She raised her eyebrows. "My neighbor yelled at you?" And then she shook herself and blushed opening her door further and gesturing him inside. He did, moving out of the way so that she could shut the door behind him. "Sorry, that's…not important."

When she spun to face him again, she was a lot closer than she'd ever been before, he was realizing. He swallowed hard at just how close she was, looking up into his face in wonder.

"You said something about…coming here to ask me out again…" she said quietly.

"Yeah! Yeah, I did. I mean, I have. I have come here to…" He cleared his throat and dove right in. "Yesterday, I let you leave and that was so stupid. I think I was just surprised you showed up in the first place 'cause I was pretty sure I was never gonna see you again. So I let you walk outta my store without even asking if you might be interested in maybe…rescheduling our date."

A slight smile tilted at the edges of her mouth. She huffed and shook her head, rolling her eyes at herself. "That should've been me. I mean, I'm the one who should've taken the initiative. I'm the one who screwed up the date in the first place. And I was so ashamed of how badly I botched the whole thing, not calling or texting to tell you why I stood you up, just appearing at your store, being a totally awkward weirdo and making you fix my laptop, and then running like a coward."

He chuckled. "I let you run, which was just as bad." He cleared his throat. "But I-I still want to try this. I'd like to take you out on a date, Sarah. Actually, this time."

Her smirk was amused as she nodded. "I'd really like that, Chuck."

Chuck felt something blooming inside of his chest and he beamed at her, before thrusting the bottle out for her to see. "I, uh, I brought this for you. It—Um, it's not much. Just…ya know…"

She giggled and took it, fingering the shoddily tied ribbon and looking up at him with no small amount of light in her eyes. "This is sweet."

"Well, it's actually more of a smokey flavor."

Her laughter felt more galvanizing than anything ever had before. "Oh my God, get in here and help me drink this. Come on."

He paused for a moment, still in her entryway. "Am I intruding? I don't wanna intrude."

"Yeah, how dare you interrupt me when I'm watching reality TV?" she drawled sarcastically, carrying the bottle into her kitchen.

Chuck followed slowly, chuckling.

He leaned against her counter and watched as she meticulously removed the ribbon. "Sorry about…that. The ribbon. It, um, well I suck at ribbon-tying, I guess. I'm sorry."

"You did this?" she asked, looking up at him. "You put a ribbon on it?"

He nodded, a little confused by the way she almost sagged a little, as if melting, her beautiful features softening as she gazed at him. "I mean, it makes it look nicer. Theoretically. If I'd done it well, it would have. Heh."

Chuck was surprised by the way she crossed her kitchen and stepped in against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging him tightly. He blinked and hugged her back the moment he got his wits about him.

He didn't quite understand what he'd done to warrant it, but he would take it. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

When she pulled back, she had a small and subdued smile on her face, nibbling the corner of her bottom lip. "I need you to understand before we even open this wine to share, before we say anything else… When you first met me and saw me being sort of a mess, that wasn't the exception, Chuck. It wasn't a one time thing. I _am_ a mess. Not that I go out and get drunk all the time. I thought I'd try a bar to see if that helped fix the mess, or at least to try to ignore it for a little while. And I did manage to sort of ignore it, but you had a lot to do with that."

Chuck waited to make sure she was done before he responded. "Hey, we're all messes. At different degrees, maybe, but still." He shrugged. She gave him a dubious look. "Sarah, seriously. I get it, you've got a lot going on, you're—I mean, everything you talked about at Casey's that first night you came in. And it's okay."

"I'm not a regular girl, Chuck. I have hang-ups. There's a lot going on. I'm dealing with some big decisions that have to be made, maybe…Well, I don't know. Maybe a huge transition. Depending on what I decide. And…well, my timing couldn't be worse, walking into your bar right now, of all the times in my life I could've done it."

He felt a little unsure then, shifting his weight. "Well, you know, I'm around. So if it is bad timing, I'm okay putting off our date until it's a better t—"

"No, no!" she rushed out. "The timing might be bad, but I'm going to do it anyway. Fuck the timing." She shrugged a bit sheepishly.

And for a split second, he wanted to kiss her.

He didn't kiss her. Instead, he just grinned.

And she grinned back.

"Can you grab two glasses from the cupboard all the way to the right, next to the sink? I'll open the wine," she said through her grin.

He was a thrown off by what had just happened, in the best way. He shook himself.

"Yeah. Yes. Definitely. All the way to the right."

Within a few minutes, they were sitting at the bar-like counter on the other side of the kitchen. There was a small table behind them, but with only one chair. And the couch was past that, with her TV in front of it with a reality show that was currently on mute.

"Sorry things are…sort of sparse. I'm not…um…I spend most of my time at the office anyway."

She must have noticed he was looking, and he could see the embarrassment on her face now, as she ran her eyes over her place, over her sparse furnishings, the space that looked almost un-lived in.

He waved that off. "You don't have to apologize. When I first moved into my apartment, all I had was a TV, my game consoles, and a folding chair in my living room. My bedroom had my bed and that was it." They chuckled together. "A combination of poverty and laziness. My sister finally strong-armed me, forced me to some furniture store and gave me a loan for a couch and a kitchen table with chairs and a dresser so I didn't have to keep my underwear in boxes."

Sarah cracked up. "You were living out of boxes for that long?"

"It was just a few months. Not that bad," he groused, grinning. "And I did pay my sister back, in case you're wondering. She also forced me to get a real shower curtain instead of the blue tarp I hung up to keep the water from going everywhere when I took a shower. I'm really talking myself up here; you can cut me off any time you like."

She giggled and held up a hand. "All right, you made me feel better about myself."

He did a fist pump. "Yesssss! That was the goal."Something came over her face and she furrowed her brow with a quiet, "Why?" He tilted his head in question and she twisted her lips to the side shyly. "Sorry. I just…You seem to care so much about how I…feel…about myself, my self-esteem, you know? And I don't understand why. You did it that night when I first wandered into Casey's. You told me to be nicer to myself. I mean, do you do this with everyone?"

She sipped her wine and made a quiet humming sound. He thought he might've scored with the wine choice.

He shrugged. "I don't think I do it with everyone. My only job when I stand behind that bar is that I fix folks the drinks they want. That's it. But sometimes it's hard to see people go through shit and not…do anything about it. Or at least try. You know, without prying too much. But I dunno, you were…you are…you caught my attention in a way other people having, I guess. I don't know how else to explain it." He paused, sipping his wine. "You just seemed like—Uh, well I dunno. I guess I felt like you maybe needed to hear it. And maybe nobody else in your life would say it, so…so I said it."

Sarah sipped her wine and gave him a look he couldn't figure out. (She had a lot of those.) "You're kinda weird, you know that?"

"Yes," he said emphatically, not taking a bit of offense to it, because he could tell by the thread of humor and warmth in her face and tone that she didn't mean him to take offense to it. "Is that okay? You can be honest."

She giggled. "I'm fine with it. I like your kind of weird. It makes me feel good."

Chuck raised his eyebrows. "Does it?"

"Mmm." She nodded once, slowly. "A girl gets sort of stuck in a rut, going from apartment to work and back to apartment and back to work again with nothing in between. And those moments become sorta…scarce. Those moments where…I don't know…moments that are different from usual. That feel good or even just feel…different? Know what I mean?"

"Yeah. I think I do." He smiled a little. "Like adding a little spice to your life."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Sure. We can go with that."

There was a lull in the conversation and then she turned and looked at her table again.

"I should buy another chair for my table. Maybe a blender or something. A coffee maker. Plates. Plural. Isn't that what normal people do? Fret about how much food they eat and decide to make smoothies for breakfast instead of the eggs and bacon and the toast with the jam? People do that, right? Toss in an almond or two and there's your protein."

When she turned to look at him, he realized it wasn't a rhetorical question. "I think so," he blurted. "I mean, I dunno. I've never done that. I'd rather eat the eggs and bacon, maybe some potatoes. Oh! Put all that stuff inside an omelet and voila! Perfect breakfast. Toast on the side."

She grinned and shook her head. "I just never needed more than one chair so it felt sort of…stupid…having chairs around that I didn't need. You know?"

He nodded, then he caught sight of their wine glasses and he held his up. "Wait, but you've got more than one of these."

"Ah! Yes, true. But!" She held up a finger, raising one eyebrow coyly. "The set of four were on sale right next to the single glasses and it just felt like a deal I shouldn't pass up. I could get one glass for only like a dollar less than the four. I feel like I made the right decision on that, don't you?"

He laughed. "That's smart buying right there."

"A'thank you."

They chuckled together and he sipped his wine, subtly trying to glance around her living room. It really was exceptionally sparse. Which made him think that no one came here ever. She never invited people here, friends, family, coworkers. She really did only have things she absolutely needed, save the one thing that she maybe didn't technically need but had anyway—her television.

Nothing on the walls, just large expanses of empty space. No photos. Nothing to make this place her own. It made him a little sad.

"Don't feel bad for me, Chuck, I'm doin' okay."

He whipped around to look at her again and shook his head, having a mind to pretend she hadn't hit the nail on the head with her assumption, but she cut him off.

"It's okay, I'm not offended. You're just doing that nice thing again. You weirdo." She smiled a bit at him. "Look, it's exactly the way I said. All I do is work. It's easy, steady, and I'm really good at it. I know what to expect every day. So I spend most of my time getting lost in it. Means I don't have much time to make friends or date, that's all."

He understood what she was saying. Sure, she didn't have friends; was he planning on making a federal case out of it? It was almost as if she was daring him to show even a tiny sign of sympathy or pity.

But he didn't. Instead he muttered, "No friends, huh?" She just watched him quietly. "You don't have family around?" She pressed her lips together in something of a wan smile and shrugged. "I see. Then you're…alone."

"Yeah, but not lonely." She gave him a chastising look, before he even had a thought to feel bad for her. "Loneliness is for suckers, and I'm no sucker. My job makes sure I don't have time for loneliness."

"I'll drink to that." He raised his wine glass. "Fuck loneliness."

Sarah laughed, her eyes bright, and she raised her own glass to clink it against his. "Fuck loneliness."

They each sipped their wine and the warmth between them increased tenfold.

}o{

Agent Sarah Walker of the CIA, once a field agent, now a benched CIA analyst babysitter, stood staring at her kitchen table and the one chair tucked under it. She sighed, running her hands down the front of her blouse, fixing her blazer.

Then she checked her watch. It was only one minute until six, the time she and Chuck agreed upon for the second try of their first date. That was a new one. A second first date. She'd love to try to explain that one to her mom someday. Was a second first date 'normal stuff'?

She raised her eyebrows as she realized she kept thinking of it as a "first" date, as if it was a foregone conclusion there would be more than one.

But the truth was, as long as he didn't reveal himself to be a terrorist or some double agent working for a foreign adversary, as long as he wasn't some sort of serial killer or something, there would be another date. Because it was a fact that she liked spending time with him, and it was a fact that having him sit beside her at her counter the night before for over four hours, finishing the bottle of Malbec he'd brought between them, had solidified her good opinion of him. Solidified and expanded. It put meat on the bones of her respect for him.

Put simply, she couldn't find a single thing she didn't like about him.

And she'd decided she wanted to know more of him, enough time that she eventually did find something to fault in him. She liked the idea of getting to know another human being well enough to learn their strengths and to learn their flaws. That was how this was supposed to go, right? Liking someone in spite of their flaws, or maybe because those flaws were a part of them?

Sarah knew she was getting ahead of herself, though, as she looked at that one lone chair sitting there.

Maybe Chuck wasn't going to ruin the date, but she might. She wasn't good at dating unless it was a mark she'd be manipulating, waiting 'til they turned their head just enough for her to slip something into their drink and steal intel from them when they were knocked out.

She wasn't going out with Chuck to get intel. She wasn't going out with him to kill or capture him, or any individuals connected to him.

This was a real date. And she'd have to be herself, something she wasn't all that experienced in after over a decade of playing parts and wearing masks. What did that even mean, being herself? Who even was she? What was underneath all those years of playacting? She didn't even know. She'd never had a chance to find out.

It was nerve-wracking to think about going out with this guy without playing a part, without wearing a mask.

But this was what her mom suggested, wasn't it? Trying out this 'normal stuff' and seeing how it went?

She felt like someone had disconnected the program that was keeping her sane anytime she attempted to do 'normal stuff'. Stakeouts, missions, being out in the field? She understood that. She could rely on her talents and skill sets in those situations. She knew how good her aim was. She knew how to get out of a chokehold, she could break three ribs at once with the right amount of pressure and a sharp elbow, and she could pilot just about any aircraft that existed.

She couldn't rely on a damn thing once she stepped outside of her apartment with Chuck Bartowski on this real date, except that she genuinely liked him. She just wanted him to genuinely like her back.

The knock startled her a little and she jumped, rolling her eyes at herself and going to the door. She stood there for a moment, regretting that she hadn't hung a mirror in this area of her apartment.

She was out of luck, though. So she opened the door and smiled at the man standing out in the hallway.

Before she could say anything, he sighed in relief. "Thank God, you opened the door."

"Shut up!" she exclaimed through laughter, reaching out into the hallway to shove his shoulder. He staggered back a few steps, chuckling. "Date cancelled. We're done here."

"What?!"

She grinned and opened the door wider, gesturing him in with a bob of her head. "I have to get my purse and coat. Is it super cold out there?"

He stepped inside and she let him shut the door himself as she went to grab her purse from the counter.

"Full disclosure, I've lived in Los Angeles literally my entire life so sixty-eight degrees is coat with scarf and super thick socks weather. I think it's freezing out there right now. Take that as you will."

Sarah laughed, shoving her phone into her purse. "I'll take that into account and wear a coat but leave the scarf at home. I've seen snow."

His jaw dropped. "Excuse me, I have seen snow, thank you."

She just laughed again, grabbing her long coat from the closet. And when she turned to see him thrusting a single rose out towards her, she dropped her gaze to it, freezing with only one arm shoved into her coat.

She finished putting her coat on, pulling her hair out from the collar, before she reached out to take the rose, staring at it with a small smile.

Lifting her gaze back to him, she raised an eyebrow. "Brought me flowers, huh?"

"Just the one flower. A, um, a rose. Sorry it isn't a red one. I just thought this one was a lot prettier. It's got like three or four different colors in it. A little more pink on the inside petals, and then the yellow and orange and white." He frowned a little. "I just realized there are probably, like, color codes to these things, aren't there? I didn't think about it. I dunno what the code is for this color, or this-this array of colors."

She giggled. "I don't know or care about rose color codes. It's beautiful."

A slow grin swept over his handsome features and he nodded. "Okay, good. Hopefully it makes up for my joke when you opened the door."

She chuckled. "You have nothing to make up for. It was a good joke."

"So on top of everything else you've got going for you, you also have a fantastic sense of humor." He let out a low whistle and then grinned a bit dopily.

Buttoning her coat, she set the rose down on the counter and hung her purse over her shoulder. "And a ravenous appetite."

He widened his eyes and nodded. "Hint processed. Let's go eat."

"It wasn't that much of a hint, more of a request," she said over her shoulder as she led him out into the hallway. He cracked up. And as she turned to lock her apartment door, she didn't realize that the nerves and the pondering over whether or not she could be herself, without a mask, without playacting, were gone. And that she was already comfortable, her walls already lowered, her guard let down.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks so much for reading. Next chapter we go into full date mode and I can't wait for y'all to read it! See you all soooooooon! Please leave a review, thanks!

-SC


	7. Chapter 7

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary**: A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**A/N:** Hey, thanks for the awesome and nice comments and reviews. It's very appreciated. I really hope y'all enjoy this chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

* * *

She couldn't help laughing at the melodramatics of her date as they walked the few blocks from the parking structure to the place where he was taking her for dinner. She got a half-hearted glare from him for it.

"You really are a California boy. It's actually pretty refreshing out tonight. Nice and crisp." She took a deep breath and let it out with a satisfied, "Ahhhh!"

"Did you really just describe forty degrees as 'nice and crisp'? Sarah, this is frigid. It is so cold out tonight." He had his arms wrapped tightly around his torso and he was shivering, in spite of the seemingly thick jacket he was wearing. She could see inside of the collar a bit and it looked like there was down lining the inside, too.

"And yet you're still wearing canvas shoes," she teased. "Not exactly the warmest choice for your feet."

He looked like he was going to protest, then looked down at his black Converse sneakers, then back up at her with a tilt of his head. "Okay, I have to give you that one. The shoe choice was a little stupid, but these are my favorite kicks."

She laughed. And then she thought about the pairs of shoes she owned, wondering if she even had favorites. She wore what she had to for the missions she took part in. And she wore sensible pumps to work usually, sometimes boots, and she had athletic shoes for when she was going out for a run. She liked shoes. She liked shopping for shoes. But she didn't really have favorites. Was that a normal thing? To have favorite shoes? Favorite outfits?

"…Sarah?"

The CIA agent shook herself out of her reverie. "Sorry, what?"

He had a slight smile on his face as he watched her, still tromping along the damp sidewalk beside her with his arms hugging his torso for warmth. "I asked you if you're a fan of Mexican food."

"Oh. I love Mexican food. Sorry, I was…in a trance or something."

Smiling, he shrugged. "S'okay! Have you ever had a street taco?"

Of course she had. In Mexico. A million times over. But she just shrugged innocently, not sure why keeping her travels to Mexico a secret from him was her go-to reaction to his question. It wasn't like Mexico wasn't a travel destination for a lot of people. He wouldn't automatically assume she was CIA because she'd had street tacos in Mexico.

"You're in for a treat, Sarah." And then he stopped and gestured towards what looked like a gas station. She furrowed her brow in confusion and turned to look at him again, before switching her gaze to the gas station again. There was a polished but old-looking sign that said "Carniceria" and nothing else.

"Um. A gas station carniceria?" she asked, blinking once.

He chuckled. "It used to be a gas station but it ran out of gas. They were gonna bulldoze it but this family bought it in the sixties and made it into their store. The best carne asada and carnitas tacos you'll ever eat, I swear to God. Y la lengua! But only if that's something you'd be willing to try. Tongue," he translated, and for a second, she wanted to roll her eyes, until she realized there was no way for him to know she was fluent in nine languages, including Spanish.

"Ah!" She nodded. "Got it."

She didn't really know what the look on her face might've been projecting for him to look so unsure all of a sudden. But he frowned all the same, taking her arm in his gentle grip to pull her to a stop, turning her to face him.

"You must think I'm some kinda cheapskate, oh my God. I just realized how cheap this must look to you. I just took you to an old gas station for freaking street tacos instead of a nice restaurant where we can sit and eat and talk over candlelight. I'm an absolute idiot, wow!" He let go of her and shook his head, huffing and rolling his eyes.

"No, Chuck, it's okay! I wasn't thinking that." She was sort of wondering, though. Not that she expected him to take her to a thirty dollar plus per meal sort of restaurant. But this hadn't exactly been what she'd pictured when he asked if he could take her out for dinner.

"You were, but it's nice of you to try to persuade me otherwise." He gave her a wry look. "I guess I just thought…you know, what's my favorite place with my favorite food? And it's this place by a mile. Cheap? Yeah. Always good and consistent? YEP. The meat just sorts of…falls apart in your mouth. I'm serious. And they make the tortillas by hand. You get to watch them cut up the meat for you, right off the grill. Fresh cilantro, salsa they make themselves…"

She took his arm and shook her head vehemently. "If this is your favorite, we can't leave this gas station until I have a gas station taco."

Chuckling, he shook his head. "I feel like such a cheap asshole. God." He was genuinely embarrassed, even though he was trying to pass it off. "I'm sorry. I suck. Look, we can get at least _a_ taco because I made you trek through the tundra for this—" She burst out laughing and a pleased look came over his face. "But I've got an idea after, something that's a little nicer than a gas station. Deal?"

No human being could stand on this spot she was standing on and look at the man she was looking at, and not genuinely want to do whatever might make him happy. "Yeah. Deal. Hey, and don't-don't apologize, okay? I bet these tacos are better than any thirty dollar plate at a steak house."

"They are, but I should've had some freaking sense."

She grabbed his arm in both of her hands and tugged him after her, leading him to the…restaurant? Was it technically a restaurant? Or just a mart? She didn't really know.

"It's okay, Chuck! Seriously."

He grumbled a little but nodded, opening the door for her to go in first. The first thing she noticed was that it was packed with people shopping for food, and also with people who were shoving tacos and tamales in their faces. The registers were clanking like mad, yelling, hustle and bustle, and a hardworking frenetic air all emphasizing just how crazy this place was.

She stared at it all with wide eyes, keeping a tight hold on Chuck's arm, to make sure she didn't get swept up into the stream of people walking in and out.

It was a mart, but they also prepared and sold food from a second window. There were fridges lining the walls with all sorts of drinks, but there were a lot more Mexican brands and products, including horchata in large jugs.

"Hey! Jefe alto!"

"Antonio!" Chuck called back, holding a hand up in a wave.

The man who'd called out to him was wearing a scarf around his head and an apron, and he looked like he'd been back there cooking for hours. "Ven, ven, ven!"

Without pausing, Chuck reached down to wrap his hand around hers and pulled her around through the waist-height swinging door towards the back. Antonio wiped his hands on the cloth over his shoulder as they approached and he threw his arms around Chuck. "Good to see you, Chuckie! Where you been, eh?"

"Working, man. You know how it is."

Antonio gestured to the tumult around him and raised his eyebrows, causing her date to chuckle before he turned and put a gentle hand on her back, ushering her closer.

"Antonio, this is Sarah."

"Hola, Sarah." He shook her hand enthusiastically, pumping it a few times with both of his hands wrapped around it.

"Nice to meet you, Antonio."

"Antonio was one of my Buy More customers."

"He swept in like, like Superman, eh? My daughter's quinceañera…man, she put a big hole in my pocket. Five years later, I'm still recovering." He threw his head back and laughed. "There was a light show, computers and everything, and Chuckie here came from the Buy More after we had a short. He saved the day. My Lili's hero." He thumped Chuck on the back. "That was more than your job, jefe. You came through for us."

Chuck was definitely blushing as he cleared his throat and turned to Sarah then. "Um…d'you mind…just…waiting here for a second?"

A worker with a large pan of tamales rushed past yelling, "Move! Move! Cálido!"

Chuck took her by her shoulders and pushed her up against some shelves with spices and flour. "Stay here. I don't want you getting scalded or trampled."

She nodded with a laugh and watched as he and Antonio moved a little bit away from her. She watched their interaction. Chuck was obviously close friends with the middle-aged restauranteur, and with the way some of the cooks in back waved and said his name, he was well-known here too. But then she saw Chuck gesture to her with his thumb and Antonio got an unmistakable look on his face. Like he was on the verge of winking but didn't want to do it in case it embarrassed his friend. His face was bright, eyes shining, as he thumped Chuck in the chest with his fist a few times as if to say, "good work".

Agent Walker was used to men complimenting her looks, sometimes in ways that were less nice and more sickening, but there was something ultimately more wholesome about the pride and happiness in Antonio's face as he took Chuck's arm and walked him over to the grill.

Within five minutes, Chuck had a bag in his hand, two beers dripping with condensation, and a big grin on his face. He slipped money, she didn't see how much, into Antonio's hand, and the man looked a bit reluctant, but he accepted it anyway, then waved for her to join them.

"Ven. You can eat back here. It isn't a madhouse and it's not out in the cold." He led them through the kitchen and pushed open a swinging door to a warehouse that had a few small tables with folding chairs. "A few of us might come in and out, so not so romantic, eh?"

Sarah couldn't stop the slight blush from showing on her face. And as he winked and squeezed her shoulder while he scooted by to get back to work, she thanked him profusely.

When they were left alone, Chuck gestured to the small table and set everything down, before he pulled out the folding chair for her. She giggled and bowed her head to him grandly, before taking her seat and gracefully crossing her legs under the table.

He plopped down in the chair adjacent to hers and dug through the bag, pulling out a few small containers. "These are teeny tiny tacos, so I got us three each. If you want more, we can do that."

Smiling, she accepted her container and let him open her beer with the bottle opener on his key ring. And as they got set to eat, she peered at him. "So what's the story here? He gives you a lot of attention and privileges, letting us sit back here to eat _and_ not have to wait in that crazy line to order."

He shrugged modestly. "Like he said, I did that job for him a few years ago. He's right, I maybe went a little outside of what my job entails. He called the Buy More for emergency help and usually we have a list, but I took the job immediately and went out there. It wasn't a short, like he said. The program for the show just wasn't working, so I revamped it in record time and then I, uh, I might have fixed the DJs lagging laptop. The DJ was Antonio's brother, full disclosure."

She laughed. "Ah, so he has your back for life now, huh?"

"Something like that," he chuckled.

"Does he give you free tacos a lot?"

"I try not to take too much advantage of that, but sometimes he does, yeah. I, um, I didn't want that to be the case tonight. I'm trying to not cut corners with you." He smiled quietly at her, then grabbed his first taco. "All right, carne asada first. Let's go!"

Their meal went by really quickly, and she had to admit, she'd never had better tacos in her life. Chuck had been right about the meat and the salsa. It was the perfect level of spice, the perfect tang and refreshing bite to it.

They said goodbye and thank you to Antonio and walked back out into the night.

"See, I'll take food that good over a fancy restaurant any damn day of the week," she said, waving her arm back towards the carniceria.

He chuckled. "_You're_ doing the nice thing now. I am self-aware enough to know that I really should've sprung for a fancy restaurant. In hindsight, that would've been the better first date plan. Just objectively, taking your date to a Mexican mart for street tacos, especially on a first date, is lame."

"It is not," she laughed. "Maybe…maybe for some regular girl you're taking out on a first date, but I'm not exactly a regular girl, Chuck Bartowski." She raised her eyebrow at him and reached out to squeeze his forearm, giving it a little flirtatious tug.

"You keep saying that and I don't exactly understand what you mean by it, but I'm not upset about it at all. Being a complete weirdo myself."

Sarah cracked up and stepped in against his side, hugging his arm to her. "So what's next in this plan of yours?"

"We're going gourmet. There's a bakery two blocks this way, if you can stand walking out here."

She reared back a bit and gave him a look. "You're the one complaining about the cold."

"I'm not complaining, I'm just pointing it out. There's a difference," he argued, and she laughed again.

He was right about the bakery being gourmet. It was a French bakery, full of breads and desserts that were on the pricier side, and they ended up getting a pile of small desserts on a plate, a plate she insisted on paying for, not that he fought her too much, which she appreciated.

And then he found them a quiet corner towards the back of the bakery to sit and take their time.

"When I was a kid, my sister and I would get on the bus and we'd come all the way over here together. As a treat. Like, if one of us got an A on a test or if we were super stoked about our report cards. One time, we came here because we did our own yard sale and got rid of clutter, so we used some of the, I dunno, it must've been like fifty bucks at the most, to get some tasty desserts."

She smiled at him as she picked at a pastry daintily, putting a bit of the flaky crust in her mouth. "You'd come here just the two of you? Alone?"

"Yeah. I was, like, nine or ten, she was thirteen, fourteen. Our dad sometimes would toss us some money for the day then he'd disappear into his computer lab, and we'd go adventuring together. I dunno if he would've liked the fact that we sometimes took buses to get super far away, but we made sure he never knew so…" He shrugged.

She saw a wistful look on his face as he finished the small raspberry torte he'd first picked up between his fingers.

"You two were close, huh? You and your sister?"

"Mhm. Yeah. Super close. I mean, we still are, even as adults. We sort of…had to be? I guess?" He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head thoughtfully, taking a sip of his latte.

"You had to be? Why's that?" she asked, propping her chin on her palm, elbow leaning on the table. And then she regretted asking, because a cloud came over his features, even as the smile stayed on his face. He diverted his gaze to the side. It was just the slightest drop in mood, but it was enough for her to wish she hadn't pushed him on it.

Had she misstepped?

Before she could apologize or backtrack, he answered.

"Uh, my dad wasn't around a whole lot after my mom left. I was maybe, um, nine or so when she got outta Dodge. And my dad didn't handle it too well. Became more emotionally absent, spent all his time with his computers in his lab. You know, the whole patting my head as he went by but then shutting and locking his lab door so that we couldn't talk to him after school or anything because he was too busy with work. Ellie kind of picked up the mantel around the house. Probably a depression thing. I'm sure getting left by your spouse would be a good reason for slipping into depression…" Sarah nodded slowly. "And then he started becoming physically absent, like not just hiding in his lab but leaving, going to conventions and meetings out of town. He'd be gone for a while, come back, be gone again, come back, and then he just, like, didn't come back at all once I was a teenager and Ellie was in college. We got cards for a while, you know…birthdays, holidays… he made sure the house was paid off and all that… and then pretty much everything stopped while I was in college. Like he finally just…" He made a snipping gesture with his fingers. "Cut the cord."

Chuck shrugged as if it wasn't that huge of a deal, but she felt the ache in her chest acutely. How were people such horrible parents? How did people like that even exist? And then that of course made her think of her own dad and she nearly scoffed at herself. There were plenty of people out there who were unfit for parenting, weren't there?

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I see why you and your sister had to be close. Survival."

"Yeeeaah. And hey, it's okay. We're both just fine." He winced. "After a lot of therapy. Hours and hours and…hours of therapy. And unhealthy romantic relationships. And that one time Ellie tried mushrooms in med school and called me thinking she was going to die." He laughed and then shook his head. "That really had nothing to do with our parents, I don't think, but she said it did, and anyway it just popped into my head and it's hilarious. She was so embarrassed."

She sniffed in amusement. "We all have stories like that." She'd been drugged. Did that count? An assassin attempting to stop her from foiling his mission. But it hadn't killed her the way it was supposed to and now he was no longer on this Earth. She shook that out of her head and then reached out to squeeze his hand. "At least you two have had each other."

His smile was slow and filled to the brim with affection. "Yeah. And Ellie is the greatest. She has been the perfect partner in crime while growin' up."

She giggled, going back to her dessert, trying not to get too lost in her thoughts. But she couldn't help wondering what their lives must have been like. The Bartowski children had been fending for themselves all these years.

They'd grown up without the guidance of a mother or of a father, and she imagined Ellie, being the older of the two, had probably had to step into both of those roles. She wondered if there was some bitterness there for his sister. And then she thought Ellie Bartowski must be an incredible woman, considering the type of person her brother was now. He was so good, and she imagined it was his sister's influence.

His descriptions of the times he spent with his sister made her a little envious, though, knowing she'd never had that special unbreakable bond with a sibling because her parents had realized their mistake after having just the one child. And she couldn't help wondering if things might have been different if she'd had someone like Chuck's sister around while growing up. Someone to make big decisions with. Someone to help guide her away from the detrimental paths, someone who'd talk her out of going off with her dad.

Things would've been so different.

}o{

"You're kidding."

"I am not. Although, your footwear is kind of intense for this situation, and I really didn't think of that," he said with a wince, turning to look at her from where he sat behind the wheel of his car.

"Oh, I can do anything in these, are you kidding me?" she asked, lifting her foot to show him her heeled boot.

He swallowed hard enough that she could hear it. "That's pretty hot." She raised her eyebrows, biting the inside of her cheek. "Okay, really hot."

Giggling and fighting a blush, she shook her head. "I'm not really sure if there's precedent for taking a girl to laser tag on a date after stuffing her with a lot of really good food, including a shit ton of carbs."

He grinned cheekily. "There probably isn't. But, you know, all that stuff you told me about your job, and your-your life, how everything's all lined up and plotted for you, got me thinking. And I thought maybe this might be a really good diversion from that plot. Kind of a step outside of the box. You seem like you're going through a lot, you keep talking about messes and stuff… well, now you can take it out on a bunch of teenagers. Shoot them with lasers."

The warmth spilling through her burst out in a bubbly laugh at that last part. "I was going to say something about how sweet you are, but then you mentioned shooting teenagers with lasers, so…"

Chuck cracked up. "I'm a man of many sides." He paused. "And angles."

"Some pretty good angles from where I'm sitting."

She didn't feel bad about saying that one bit. And even in the darkness of the car, nothing but a single parking lot light nearby, she could see him blushing.

"Uh…thank you. You've also got…great angles. The best angles. Ever."

He frowned at himself, furrowing his brow and shaking his head as if he'd just said the stupidest, most awkward thing ever, and she couldn't help laughing at him, reaching over to play with one of his curls.

"Just for that, I might let you score a point off me."

And she got out of the car, not minding in the least if he took extra meaning from that.

A half hour later, she was all suited up, her vest and helmet on, gun in hand. A few of the teenage boys on the other teams ogled at her.

Chuck ambled over, racking his gun with a quick pump of his arm, probably thinking he looked pretty cool while he did it. He really just looked like a very tall, adorable dork. But she gave him an impressed look anyway because she liked the way he grinned at her. Nothing behind it except that he liked her. No ulterior motive or manipulation, no ill intent.

"Hey, heads up. One of the kids thinks you're an Amazonian warrior from Themyscira. He literally said those words to his friend. I'd pop him for ya, but it's actually a super accurate description of you and a major compliment. Take it from me, a huge comic nerd."

"I don't know what the Themywhatta thing is, but I'll take your word for it."

"Really? The island of women warriors that Wonder Woman grew up on?"

"Ahhhh. Okay. I know Wonder Woman. Cool. I'll take it." She grinned cockily and winked.

"Fighters ready…?"

"Okay, remember, we're blue team. Only shoot the red, green, and purple teams."

She bit back a snarky response, deciding to just keep her head in the game. She had a nerd to impress, after all.

"Three, two, one…GO!"

Sarah flooded into the dark room and immediately knelt behind a wall, racking her gun and preparing to go to laser war. She took a quick look around the place. There were stairs, firemen poles, walls, crates, perfect hiding places, some incredible spots for taking cover, or providing cover fire.

God, she was suddenly so glad Chuck had taken her here. This was going to be a blast.

"TAKE THAT!"

She swung her gun up and shot the kid who leapt around the corner. His vest blinked and he sagged in disappointment. Novice. She stood up and pointed at him. "Never alert your enemy when you're coming." She thumped him on the helmet, then left him behind.

"Got your six!"

Sarah ducked and made a dive for a pile of boxes, looking up as Chuck shot the teen on Team Purple who'd been trying to sneak up behind her. His vest flashed purple and she grinned up at her date. "Hey, thanks."

He ducked in beside her. "Told ya I got your six."

But before he'd even gotten the words out, Sarah popped up from behind cover and took out four opponents in quick succession. Purple, red, green, green. One after the other. And then she ducked back under cover.

Chuck gaped at her and blinked once. "What…?"

"I'm gonna need cover fire to get to those stairs. I'll have a better chance at destroying these amateurs if I've got the higher ground. Can I count on you?"

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, and then there was a look on his face that was…well, it was unmistakably turned on, and she felt adrenaline course through her entire body. "Oh, you can count on me. Go fuck 'em up, woman."

She reached over to give his shirt collar a flirtatious tug and grinned, winking, before she got onto her haunches. "In three, two, one."

Bursting out from behind cover, she ran crouched low, making her way towards the staircase. She heard Chuck's gun making the silly blasting sounds that had to be straight out of some 80s B-movie scifi flick.

Whatever he did, he got the job done, and she was high up in the rafters, taking cover behind a pillar, poking her gun out every so often to destroy teenagers from above. The points were racking up on the side panel of her gun. Maybe this was cheating, but if they didn't want people to utilize the higher ground, they wouldn't have included the stairs and rafters, would they?

But then she caught sight of something that made her heart race. Chuck sprinted across the arena below her and did a less than graceful roll into the corner where he was immediately pinned by a few guys on a few other teams. She glanced up at the point totals projected on the ceiling. The Blue Team was way, way in the lead, and these little fuckers were ganging up on Chuck, a member of the Blue Team, because of it.

Petty little shits.

She wasn't letting this fly.

Sprinting across the bridge, she leapt onto one of the fire poles and slid down. The moment her heel touched the ground, her gun was blasting, shooting them as she charged.

Barreling through them, she dove for Chuck, grabbed him by the back of his vest, and dragged him out of the corner. They were well hidden behind a panel, away from most of the fighting.

"We're safe here for a moment," she said. "You okay?"

He melodramatically clutched at his chest, slumping into her lap, his head pillowed on her thigh. "S-Sarah, I'm…I'm almost done for." He peeled his hand away from his chest and she saw the vest monitor beneath with the number two blinking. He would be out of the fight if he was shot only two more times. He'd taken a lot of hits down here while she was cheating up in the rafters.

But she could only be amused by his antics.

"You've been a good soldier, Sgt. Bartowski."

"Thank you," he said, narrowing his eyes.

She giggled, her tongue between her teeth. "I probably should've had your back better."

"Are you kidding me? We're winning because you're cracking proverbial heads out there and it is so fucking _hot_, Sarah. By all means, keep pwning the n00bs."

"Keep what? Is that a sex thing?"

His eyes popped. "Um…no. But it could be if you want it to be."

Maybe she should've felt ridiculous, engaging in this kind of blatant sexual innuendo with this guy on a first date, laser blasters going off all around them, both of them wearing these stupid and unflattering vests and helmets, but she was too caught up in the moment to care.

"Hey, while I have you…for a second." He sat up and she was kind of bummed not to have his weight and warmth pressed against her legs anymore. But he turned to face her, licking his lips. "You know…I, um…"

"Duck."

He flattened himself on the floor and she blasted the teen who was trying to sneak around the corner of their sanctuary, aka this thin panel people were eventually going to find them behind. "Hey, thanks."

"Sure. You were saying?"

She swung her gun around the edge of the panel and shot a few sprinting teenagers with her laser, smirking in satisfaction at the fact that none of them seemed to be able to figure out where it had come from. And then she ducked back behind the panel and turned to smile at him.

He just whistled and shook his head, a dreamy look on his face. Then he cleared his throat and shook himself. "Uh. Focus. Right. My sister and my best friend are usually my holiday buddies. I mean, they're who I spend holidays with. Family and all that. But they're both gonna be out of town for Christmas—"

"Hold that thought," she breathed. She could hear approaching footsteps and she knew she had yet to be shot, so she wrapped her arm around Chuck's shoulders and yanked him in close, swinging them both around so that he was out of the line of fire, having to straddle him so she could pull her gun and point it at the Team Green opponent swinging around the panel with his lasers a'blazing.

She took a hit, her vest flashing blue, but she got him as well, and he belted out a "HA! GOT YA!" before he looked down. An alarm sounded and the lights on his helmet and vest turned off, meaning he'd been shot the allotted twenty times and was out of the game. "DAMN IT!" he bemoaned, slumping away.

Sarah turned and looked down at Chuck, realizing she was still straddling him, sitting in his lap, her arm still stretched out to the left with her gun, their faces close. She made a conscious decision not to move. "Keep going," she breathed.

"You sacrificed yourself for me…"

"Well, I've still got nineteen lives yet. Don't get too emotional about it." She smirked.

He shook his head with a grin, and she was pleased to note his arm wound around her waist. "I was gonna say, I'm gonna be alone on Christmas." He licked his lips, which was doing things to her, especially in this current position. "And, you hinted the other day that you're-you're also alone. What if you come over on Christmas Day and we can just…be chill? I mean, do a chill Christmas? No pressure."

Sarah's jaw fell open and she widened her eyes.

A red vest swung around the panel and shot her, and she was too shocked to protect herself. Her vest flashed blue as the teen celebrated with a "HA HA!" Everything seemed to bubble up at once in her chest and she snarled, "You little—"

But Chuck caught her before she could crawl up to her feet and take the guy's gun from him and break it in half, pulling her back into his lap. "Whoa! Whoa, whoa…it's okay. It's okay, eighteen lives, eighteen lives!"

She got her head about her as the teen ran away with fear in his eyes, and she let out a quiet growl before she turned back to Chuck.

"Look, I'm gonna finish this. We've got five minutes left in this fight. Wait here for me. I need cover fire if you can."

She hoped he didn't notice how pointedly he ignored his invitation, but she was in a bit of a fog over it.

Christmas? Christmas with Chuck? Christmas with…another human being? That wasn't…She didn't do that. Not since she was a kid. It was always just another day. Christmas was any other Wednesday or Thursday or whatever day.

And now she'd been invited to actually spend it with…someone else?

Not just someone else, but a someone else she liked quite a bit, a someone else she was realizing she was extremely attracted to. And if those moments behind the panel were any indication, he returned the feelings tenfold. She'd seen the look on his face. She wasn't naive.

Sarah focused on the game, tagging opponent after opponent, picking her way through the other teams, the kill count ticking up on her gun, the Blue Team's point totals going through the roof.

Finally a loud alarm went through the arena and teens groaned as the session came to a close. The lights came on and the helmets and vests came off, and Sarah ambled through the teenagers to find the six foot four curly-headed date she'd come here with.

He was already out in the prep room, pulling the helmet off of his head and handing it to the worker, ruffling his hair and somehow making the helmet hair that much messier.

His brown eyes swept up to meet her blue ones and she went right for him.

Normal stuff.

This was what normal stuff felt like.

"I was providing cover fire and I died but_mmmffff_…"

She cut him off, going right for him, and she grabbed his face, having to go up onto her tiptoes even with her heels on. She kissed him solidly. It took only a split second for his hands to fall to her hips, and he kissed her back in a way that left her absolutely reeling.

"Ahem…uh…sorry but…I need the vest, lady."

Sarah broke the kiss, taking a deep breath as she looked at the worker. "Oh. Right. Sorry," she breathed, or didn't breathe…because she was a little breathless. She unbuckled the vest and shrugged out of it, handing it back. "Thanks."

"Yep." The girl walked away biting her lip, trying not to laugh.

Agent Walker turned back to her date and nodded. "Yeah."

"W-What?" He shook himself. "What's the…yes? To Christmas?"

"Yes to Christmas."

Why not? She was feeling a little crazy.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, well, wellwellwellwellwellwellwell I guess this is happening now. Also, it's been a long time since I've had so much pure fun writing than when I wrote this laser tag scene. It was very fun. Hope you had fun reading it. Please review! Thanks!

-SC


	8. Chapter 8

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary:** A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**A/N:** So having this done and posted by the New Year ALSO DIDN'T HAPPEN BECAUSE I'M REALLY GREAT AT THIS. But here's another chapter anyway. Thanks for being great readers and leaving me reviews. I appreciate it. Enjoy this!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

* * *

Chuck flicked off the main lights over the bar and stepped out into the cold Los Angeles late night air.

Shutting the door behind him, he locked it and pocketed his keys. Bundling his scarf around his neck, he shoved his hands in his pockets and yawned.

It had been a long and busy night at Casey's Bar. His only saving grace had been the fact that he was getting double time for working the closing shift on Christmas Eve. He kept reminding himself of that throughout the night, as his muscles began to ache, his patience starting to wear thin from the people who felt Christmas Eve was the perfect night to get sloppy drunk. A group had needed to take one of their party out into the alley to throw up what they drank and somebody else had clogged one of the toilets in the bathroom.

Thankfully Alex was still at the bar when that had happened because it was in the women's bathroom and he really didn't feel like clearing out the women's bathroom to close it for maintenance while he unclogged a damn toilet.

Yawning yet again, he strolled down the sidewalk. One complaint he had about downtown LA was that he wished he could get a parking spot on the same block as Casey's Bar so that when he walked out at the end of his shift at nearly three in the morning, he could just step right up to his car and get in instead of the trek through the forty-five degree winter weather.

At least the bitter cold was keeping him awake, he supposed.

He got to the crosswalk as his phone made a _deedle-doo_ sound in his pocket. If it was John making sure he remembered to take the twenty out of the drawer like he'd already texted him twice throughout his shift, he was definitely going to drive to the guy's house, pound on the front door of said house, and when he answered the door, he'd throw the twenty into his damn face.

But it wasn't John.

He beamed as he looked at his phone. Sarah Blue Eyes had sent him a text.

"Not sure if your shift is over yet but im excited about tmrw," she texted.

Chuck crossed the street and typed back, "The hell you doin up at 2:46 in the am?"

"U could say im a night owl. ;)"

"Me 2 but I really have no choice," he sent.

"Was it terrible?"

Chuck finally got to his car and unlocked it, swinging into the driver's seat and shutting the door, immediately turning his car on to get access to some heat. But he didn't go anywhere. He just sat there, staring at his phone as he responded. "Worse than usual tbh but I'm getting paid double time."

"Oh no! That bad? ru done?"

"Done. Sitting in my car w the heater blasting. And ya, not great. Lot of customers who dint know or ignored their limits :( and I end up havin to kick em out."

Chuck decided to drive home so that he could be in his cozy heated apartments and pajamas as he texted with Sarah. So he added: "Gimme 15 to get home?"

"Sure!"

He practically sped, nearly running at least one red light, so that he got home in thirteen minutes instead of fifteen, dashing up the stairs to his apartment and getting inside. He took an extra minute to change into pajamas, snagging his phone out of his pants pocket before he threw the pants over his desk chair.

"Home."

"Damn that didnt take long."

"I rly rly rly rly rly wanted to get home."

She sent a laughing emoji at that.

Chuck crawled into bed and turned off his bedside lamp. He typed, "The thing that got me thru all the shit at the bar 2nite was knowin yr coming over in the am. CHRISTMAS CHILL!" and then he stared at it, his thumb hovering over send. Was that too intense? Too needy and desperate?

His finger hovered too close, though. Maybe his finger was just too tired and couldn't hover as well as it usually could. Because it brushed the screen and it sent.

"Shit. Shit shit shit," he breathed, covering his mouth.

Wincing, he watched as the dots that meant she was typing popped up. And then they disappeared again. They showed up and disappeared two more times. God, she was typing and erasing over and over. He shouldn't have sent that. Crap. She obviously wasn't sure how to respond to his super intense admission.

But then her response popped up.

"Srsly dont even know what you mean by chill but willing 2 be surprised…" The dots appeared as if she was typing more and he waited. Then: "And thats very sweet Chuck :)"

Breathing a sigh of relief, he typed and sent (without anguishing over it), "Oh yr gonna love the Bartowski Chill. Trust. And by that I mean wear PJs and bring clothes just in case the chill extends to outside adventuring."

"WEAR PJS? Yr right. I am gonna love it." She sent the silly face emoji with its tongue sticking out. She was typing again. "Go 2 sleep. C u tmrw."

He pumped his fists and squirmed around in his bed in utter excitement, then sent a quick "Night! See ya!" before he plugged his phone in and set it on his nightstand, beaming even as he fell asleep.

}o{

A thumping sound woke him up and he groaned, rolling from his back onto his side and reaching over to grab his watch and glance at it. His yawn choked in his throat as he saw what time it was.

"SHIT!"

He threw the covers off of him. "COMING!" he yelled through the apartment. "Be right there! I'm coming!"

Stepping into his slippers, he dashed for the hallway, but then skidded to a stop and sprinted back to his bed, haphazardly making it. It looked awful but at least it was made.

As he rushed down the hallway with another "COMING!", he slapped himself in the face repeatedly to wake himself up.

God damn it, he'd forgotten to set his alarm clock. He'd been so stupidly high school about her texting him after his shift that he'd forgotten to set his alarm clock. "Stupid fucking…" he grumbled at himself, "…idiot!"

It wasn't until he whipped the door open, still blinking away the remnants of sleep, a massive grin on his face, that he realized he'd forgotten to put a shirt on. And even then, he only realized it because her smile dimmed as her blue eyes fastened on his bare chest. He followed her gaze and gasped comically, then decided in a snap decision to play it off as if nothing was wrong.

"Hey, hi, g'morning. I… typically answer the door like this. It's a wonder my landlady hasn't evicted me. Heh hehe heh…ahem. Hi."

Sarah grinned and let out a light bubbling laugh, shaking her head. "You were asleep when I knocked on the door, huh?"

He bit his lip and winced. "Uuuuuuuuhhhhh… Yes. Yes, I was. Definitely forgot to set my alarm. You, uh…you look great."

Chuck took her in from head to toe. She had her coat on but unbuttoned, a cotton navy blue sweatshirt under it and some grey yoga pants. And there were two burlap bags on her shoulders, one on each side.

"I don't at all, but thank you. I was assured there'd be no pictures taken today so you'd better stick to that or I'll break your camera."

He cracked up and opened the door wider. "Come on in. Let Christmas chill commence."

"You sure you don't wanna go back to bed there, bud?" she asked as she hobbled in, having to scoot sideways to get everything in.

Narrowing his eyes at her as he shut the door behind her, he sniveled teasingly, "No, actually." She didn't seem to expect that and she laughed. "I'm just kidding. I'm up. I'm awake. Anyway, it'd be rude for me to leave you standing here so I could go crawl back into the warm cocoon that is my bed."

"I'd be fine with it. A warm cocoon bed sounds nice."

He gave her a bit of a look, his eyebrow raised. Had she meant to imply she'd be crawling into the warm cocoon of his bed with him? Because that was how it sounded. She'd already started looking around his apartment though, a small tentative smile on her face as she grunted and set her bags down by the door.

"So, uh, here it is. Casa de Bartowski. Or, uh, well…apartamento?" He winced. "My Spanish isn't great."

She giggled. "It's nice. Not your Spanish, but the apartment." He snorted. "It's very homey."

"Is…that code for tiny and cheap-looking? The paint definitely needs touching up," he said, wincing. "And sometimes that window over the seat sticks and I have to put muscle into getting it open."

Snorting, she shook her head. "That wasn't code for anything. I like it. It looks like…a home."

"Lived in?"

"Yeah, lived in. But I don't mean it in the way you're implying with that tone and the look you have on your face. It's a good thing."

He had a look?

"I had a look?"

This time she had a look. And then that look slid down to his torso again and she raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you've been standing here shirtless this whole time. Aren't you constantly complaining about the cold?"

"Oh. I should…" He cleared his throat. "I'm gonna put a shirt on. Can I take your coat first?" He saw that she was shrugging it off even as she continued to stare at the spot near his belly button.

"Hm?" She cleared her throat this time and swung her gaze back up to his face. "Oh. Um, just tell me where I can put it. S'okay. You can go put a shirt on…if you must."

He felt himself blushing like a freaking tomato. "J—Hm. Closet right there."

He heard her giggling at him as he spun on his heels to hurry back down the hallway to his bedroom. He grabbed a shirt out of his drawer and pulled it on, before sneaking into his bathroom and brushing his teeth, putting deodorant on, and at least trying to comb his hair as much as he could. The back was staying smashed down from the way he'd slept, damn it.

Padding back out into the kitchen, he peeked over the counter into the living room and caught her eye. "Coffee? Are you hungry? Want some breakfast?"

"Yeah, definitely! Thanks." And then her eyes popped for a second, as though a lightbulb had gone off. "Oh, wait, I brought something." She went back to the door from where she'd wandered to his table and picked up one of the bags she'd brought with her, lugging it into the kitchen.

She easily hoisted it onto his butcher block and began rummaging inside of it, pulling a container out and setting it on the counter. "Coffee cake. I'm sorry, I bought it from a store. I can't…I mean, I'm not a kitchen wiz by any means. Hope that's okay."

A shy look was on her face as she nibbled on the inside of her cheek.

"Coffee cake is my favorite, whether it's baked by Martha freakin' Stewart right in front of my face or it's bought at a grocery store. Thank you, this was really thoughtful."

"I got stuff for snacking too," she said, looking a little more confident now, gesturing at the bag. Then she pulled a carton of eggs out of it. "And just in case you didn't have eggs…I don't know. They were just…there…at the store. So I got them. I don't know what I was thinking. And an onion. There's an onion in there. They were on sale. Um, and I got some bacon. I don't know."

He grinned and shook his head, chuckling. She glared a little. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise. This was super nice of you. You went out of your way with this stuff. But I'll be honest with you, I already went to the store yesterday before my shift at Casey's and got everything I'd need for breakfast even though I wasn't sure if you're a breakfast person or what…"

"Oh, I'm a breakfast person. And lunch. And dinner and dessert. I eat all the meals, sometimes twice. And snacks. I love snacks."

He cracked up. "God, I really like you." She beamed as he helped her empty the bag. "NO WAY!" He yanked the box out. "GUSHERS?"

She laughed. "I hadn't seen those since I was in, like, second grade, and they were just sitting there, so I was like 'what the fuck, let's do it'. I don't know if it's gonna be that thing where I try them as an adult and they're super disgusting and it's a total waste of my money…but whatever, I thought it'd be fun to try it again."

"These were the best! I used to trade a pog for a bag of Gushers. And that's saying a lot, because my pogs were like…gold to Kid Chuck."

She furrowed her brow. "What are pogs?"

Thirty minutes later, after Chuck had given Sarah a lesson in the religion that was the game of pogs, something he had a feeling she still quite didn't understand, he was in the kitchen alone surrounded by a bunch of food, in the middle of multitasking breakfast.

"Can I interest you in a mimosa?"

He looked over his shoulder to see Sarah standing with his fridge open, reaching in to grab the orange juice and champagne. "Oh hell yeah."

She giggled and brought them both over to the counter. "Glasses?"

"Uh, I don't really have anything fancy…"

"Well, you promised me 'Chill' so I'd hope you aren't going to make me use fancy cups and utensils."

He snorted. "Wait, so no to eating breakfast with my finest silver?"

Sarah laughed and went in the cupboard he pointed to, grabbing two regular glasses out and getting to work opening the champagne.

She made the mimosas as he worked on breakfast, and as he turned over the bacon strips in the pan, she sidled up next to him and took a deep breath. "God, that smells amazing. Here." She thrusted his mimosa at him.

Chuck smiled at her, setting the tongs down carefully and taking his mimosa. They clinked their glasses together and he just watched her for a moment, suddenly not really being able to believe his luck standing here with her on…Christmas. Shit, it was Christmas. "Hey, Merry Christmas," he said warmly.

She must've forgotten it was Christmas, too, because her eyes widened in surprise. And then she gave him a closed-mouth smile, looking almost shy, or maybe more unsure. He couldn't pin it down. "Merry Christmas, Chuck. Thanks for having me."

"You kiddin' me?" he exclaimed after taking a sip. "I'm not alone on Christmas. Your being here is saving me from Depression Lite."

"Depression Lite?" she giggled.

"Yeah." He shrugged and cracked a smile, eyeballing the potatoes and turning them over to make sure they were cooking evenly. "This is my first Christmas without family. Ellie and I did stuff just the two of us sometimes, but most of the time, her boyfriend would be there, my best buddy Morgan if he wasn't with his mom and cousins, Ellie and I's respective friends if they were around. All of a sudden, this year, I realized it was just gonna be me. I didn't want Ellie to feel terrible, because it really isn't that big of a deal…Honestly, though, I was sort of dreading it. Does that sound juvenile?" He winced.

"No, it doesn't." She shook her head and set her mimosa down, picking up the tongs and playing with the strips of bacon, scooting them back and forth. "I don't really have a lot of experience with…big family parties and situations like that around the holidays, so I don't really know what I'm missing there, but I bet it's hard to have that and then to suddenly face a holiday without it?" She set the tongs back down. "Whiplash."

Chuck took in the woman standing beside him: the sneakers she wore with yoga pants, a sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun at the back of her head, and the way she seemed to have slipped that mask on over her face again…almost without realizing she was doing it, he thought.

Did she always protect herself like this? Building fortifications around her? Had she always been alone? And was that why she seemed to have trouble opening up unless she drank?

And that wasn't all that fair, was it? She _had_ opened up to him, even when she hadn't been drinking. She had yet to fully pull away and she never really seemed like she regretted it when she did tell him more personal things. Was she as open as other people he'd met? Definitely not. And he was sure there was a reason for it, a good reason. And he wasn't going to blame her for it. Everyone was different.

But he still wanted to know more.

"Yeah," he nodded finally. "Yeah, whiplash, for sure." Something struck him then and he spun to face her. "Hey, listen, though… I don't want you to think that the reason I invited you was just that I didn't wanna be alone on Christmas. I had every intention of just hanging around and doing stuff by myself today, except…well, except for you. I specifically invited you. I wasn't about to invite anybody else, this was about you."

He watched as her face softened, and she moved in closer. He thought she'd kiss him, and he was ready for it when she leaned in, but instead she just wrapped him up in a tight hug again.

Chuck hugged her back gladly, bringing her into his chest tightly and turning his face into her hair.

She turned her face so that her lips brushed his ear. "I wouldn't have said yes to just anybody."

}o{

Not that anybody else had asked.

Be that as it may, she really wouldn't have said yes to anybody else if they'd asked her to spend Christmas with them. Her mom wouldn't ask—_couldn't_ ask. And she'd think her dad was on drugs or something if he ever talked about spending Christmas together when he talked shit on the holiday and the corporatization of it all for her whole childhood and teen years.

Sarah pulled back and looked up into his face, cupping his cheek with one of her cool hands. "Breakfast and wonderful, sincere compliments? You really know how to make sure a girl sticks around, Chuck Bartowski."

He beamed, a giggle coming out of him that made her insides feel like mush. "Would it be too bold at this point to admit I really, really hope so?"

Sarah bit her lip, her eyelids fluttering. And then she pointedly took her hand from his face and stepped back. "I think the best course of action for me is to put some physical space here. You have too many swoon-worthy one-liners just sitting in your pocket and I'm not sure how much more of it I can take." She shook her head at him, squeezing his arm. "Mind if I take off these sneakers?"

There was a moment in which she saw the yearning in his face, totally unguarded, and she almost stepped back into him, but then he cleared his throat and let out a slow breath, turning away a bit to try to hide it. But she saw it all the same and it somehow made him that much better.

"Oh God, not at all. Seriously, I meant it about chilling today. Wear whatever makes you comfortable. Make yourself at home. Please."

"'Kay." She smiled toothily, feeling a little tentative about his request if not outright shy, and then ducked out of the kitchen, heading for her bag where she packed a number of things she thought she might need.

She was generally uncomfortable with the aspect of getting into her car wearing her pajamas, and coming here wearing them, unsure about whether he meant the PJ thing or if he was just making a joke or something. So she went for casual and comfortable non-pajama clothing. And anyway, she didn't really think wearing what she usually wore to bed was entirely…appropriate. They'd only been on the one date after all. And stripping down to just her underwear and a cami top might give him a certain message…

Whether it was the wrong message or not, she wasn't really sure.

Especially considering she hadn't had an easy time of pushing the rest of the first date after the laser tag out of her mind.

Kissing him in the lobby of the laser tag place had opened the door, so to speak. And as they walked through the cold streets of downtown LA, looking for something else to do, neither of them wanting the night to end anytime soon, he'd pulled her to the side, out from the middle of the sidewalk, and he'd cupped her face to kiss her again. It was softer than the one she'd given him. It was slower, longer … and nobody had been around to interrupt it.

And when the night finally had drawn to a close, in the wee hours of the morning, she'd pulled him into her entryway to kiss him goodnight properly without having to step out into the hallway to do it, and without potential prying eyes from neighbors she had yet to meet.

They took their time with it, and her cheeks reddened even now as she kicked off her sneakers and stepped into slippers with faux-fur lined insides, because she'd been swept up enough in how good it was that she'd nearly invited him to stay.

She'd let him leave.

And she'd kicked herself for it a few times since then.

But no she wouldn't be walking around his apartment in her underwear and a cami top.

Granted, she had brought long pajama pants and a matching cotton longsleeves button-up, as rare as it was for her to actually sleep in full pajamas unless she was in North Dakota or something. She'd actually gone out to a department store and she'd bought them for this occasion and then she'd just stared at them sitting there on her bed, mocking her, wondering if he really meant pajamas or if he was teasing.

Like a complete amateur.

She just really didn't want to mess up again.

She wanted to get it all right.

Maybe she should be more scared of this whole situation with him than she was. It was making her into a complete fool. And did that count as a thing that happened to regular girls? Or was she like this because she was irregular?

Shit.

"Bacon's done. I'm starting the eggs. How do you like them and yes or no to cooking them in the grease?"

She straightened up and gave him wide eyes. "You…cook them in the grease? The bacon grease?"

"Hell, yeah. But if you're not into it, I can just grab another pan to—"

"Oh, no, no. No, please. Save the extra pan." She made sure to emphasize the innocent look on her face as she swung back into the kitchen. "As unhealthy as it probably is, I'll make an exception. You know, save us the pan washing. Only washing two instead of three." She shrugged.

He gave her a dubious look. "Right, right…Uses less water and we're in a drought."

She giggled and watched him move to grab some eggs. "My next run is just going to have to be extra long and hard. Worth it."

"Scrambled?"

"Do it."

Sarah watched him work in silence, loving the way he whistled as if he didn't have a care in the world, when she knew he did. He had to. Everyone did, didn't they?

They brought everything in to his table and she noticed the four chairs around it…for when he had people over, no doubt. Like a regular person would. She took the one closest to his and they dug into their food.

"Oh, my God. Oh…" She groaned after taking a bit of the egg. "Egg cooked in bacon grease…I'm…" She shook her head and ate more, her eyelids fluttering.

He chuckled at her. "You doin' okay?"

"Not at all! Where has this been all my life?"

Shrugging, Chuck leaned in a bit, looking exceptionally cozy all of a sudden. He'd been bedraggled and shirtless and boyish all at once when he first opened the door. But now he just looked so comfortable and warm, his hair all mussed, a bit of stubble on his face, looking at home and loose, and she wanted to just wrap her arms around him and cling, maybe have some of that rub off on her.

"Maybe you were meant to have this experience here, right now, sitting at this table, with this specific guy cooking it for you."

She raised an eyebrow, feeling something inside of her melting. "Maybe I was." She paused. "Think someone else could've definitely butchered it."

"Right?" he exclaimed, sipping his coffee. "And then you'd be off it for life, and what a waste!"

Sarah took a moment to beam at him, and then she took a sip of her mimosa and licked her lips. "Who taught you how to do this? To cook? Your sister?"

"Mhm," he muttered, nodding slowly. "I mean, some of it I just picked up. But she always said she refused to let me hit adulthood without being able to make my own meals. She said outright, 'You are not going to be one of those guys who lets his wife make all his food like this is nineteen-fifty-four.' And I will not be that guy, so that's good."

"Oh. Yeah, I'm…glad at least one of us has those skills." She winced in embarrassment.

"Not much for cooking?"

Sarah shook her head. "It isn't that I hate it or don't want to. I just…I've always been racing around for-for work, in hotel rooms, never settling well into apartments. You saw my table with the chair, the lack of…stuff I have. I just…Cooking has never been something I really had time for, and the whole lack of access to a kitchen for most of my adult life thing." She shrugged. "Maybe I'd fumble through all right if anyone ever put a cookbook and the ingredients in front of me."

Weirdly enough, he wasn't making her feel all that embarrassed. He just shrugged.

"I bet you'd be great at it if you took the time to try it. And hey, it's not your fault, you never had much of a kitchen around. I get that. How do you cook in a hotel room? Some hotel rooms don't even have so much as a microwave."

"Most don't," she chuckled, shaking her head. "But my mom always—um, she used to say that…" She cleared her throat. "That I've always been good at everything I've ever tried. So maybe."

"That doesn't surprise me even a little bit."

"It isn't true," she chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm not great at…" She paused. "This. For instance."

Chuck tilted his head in curiosity. "This?"

"Yeah, um… You know, interacting with people outside of work. Sometimes even at work I have trouble with it. Let's just say I'm not so good at making friends, let alone at keeping them. And you got firsthand experience as to why that is. What with me…missing our date and not calling you to let you know I had an emergency."

He held up his hand for her to stop. "Whoa, whoa. Hold on. You still harping on that, Sarah?" He smiled a little, his brown eyes earnest and warm. "Yeah, you missed the date, and yes, I was bummed for, like, thirtyish hours because I thought I'd been ghosted hard…but you apologized, and you came to me in person to apologize, and you were sincere and honest, and I appreciate the shit outta that." That made her giggle because she wasn't expecting it.

The way he grinned when he made her laugh, as if he was genuinely pleased he'd done it, made a nice ache go through her chest. Nobody had ever looked at her in that way before.

"And," he continued, leaning closer, "I'm pretty sure the other night, we actually went on that date, and it was really, really good. I don't know how you felt about it, but that was easily the best _date_ I've ever been on, let alone _first date_. Definitely made up for getting stood up the first time."

She gave him a look when he finished it off with a cheeky grin. And then she sniffed in amusement and ducked her head a bit shyly. "Yeah, well…I'm glad to hear it. And that _was _a pretty fantastic date."

"Your Critical Hits score had to be a record for that laser tag place."

Laughing, she shook her head, completely unprepared for what he did next.

He stood up and braced his palms on the table, leaning down over her and not stopping until he pressed his lips to her cheek. He pulled back only enough to be able to look her right in her eyes, head-on. "I wouldn't have wanted to spend Christmas with you if you weren't … well, you. Every last thing I've gotten to know about you—well, sort of gotten to know about you." His smile turned a little crooked and she was almost too overtaken by his words to notice how cute it was. Almost. She bit her lip, not breaking eye contact for a moment. "I don't just invite people willy-nilly to my home for special holidays."

She gave him a dubious look. "I don't know that I believe that." He raised an eyebrow in question. "You seem like the exact kind of person who would welcome someone into his home, and then, no matter who they are or where they came from, you'd make them feel like they belong there."

He was doing it right now, for her.

A slow smile stretched over his face. "Sweet of you to say so, but I'd never invite someone in right off the street. That's asking for my Playstation and XBox to get jacked."

She laughed, then lunged up from where she sat to wrap her arms around him in a tight hug. He stood to his full height and brought her with him. She felt his arms wind around her torso and pull her in close. She loved how it felt. There was no ultimatum in his embrace. No ulterior motive. He wasn't trying to get anything out of her, and she wasn't trying to get anything out of him. It felt like such a comfortable and safe place to be, wrapped up in the bartender's arms.

And she clung tightly, turning her face so that she could nuzzle his jaw with her nose. His arms only tightened around her that much more.

They finally pulled out of the hug, no words exchanged, just warm, quiet smiles.

}o{

He hadn't expected the droplets that flew into his face as he stood shoulder to shoulder with his Christmas companion, drying what she insisted on washing.

Gasping, he turned to look at her, a bit of soapy water dripping off his chin.

"Oh, did that get on you? I'm really sorry." She turned her innocent look back to her task at hand.

"Wow. Wow okay. Well, since you seem to be having trouble keeping the water in the sink, let me just help you out." He reached in, got some water on his fingers, and flicked it at her face, making her gasp melodramatically.

"You did that on purpose!" she exclaimed, spinning on her heel to face him.

"Hm? What?" She clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes. "Oh come on, like you didn't do it on purpose first…" He reached up and dabbed at her face with his towel. "There."

There was a flash in her eyes and he knew he was in trouble. So he dodged the first swipe she made at trying to grab onto him, but then he felt her fists tangle in the back of his T-shirt, holding onto him as he tried to escape.

"No!" he cried out. "Uncle! Uncle!"

She cracked up. "That's not how Uncle works! Your uncle can't save you now!"

His feet were slipping on the floor almost like a cartoon character and he wasn't going anywhere. "Holy shit, you're strong…"

"Mmmmhm! You messed with the wrong girl!"

Why was that somehow one of the hottest things anyone had ever said to him? Add that to the fact that he wasn't sure what she meant to do once she got her hands on more than just the shirt he was wearing.

He felt her grip shift up his shirt, and he knew she was going to try to get her arms around his torso, so he made a split second decision to duck down. She squeaked in surprise as her weight rammed into his shoulder and she tipped forward face first. Before she could flip over him and get hurt, he reached up with both arms and held her steady.

She yelled as he stood up to his full height with her draped over his shoulder, her hands holding onto his waist tightly. "What are you doing? Put me down!"

"You know what? I've been super rude. You've been here for a while now and I have yet to give you a tour," he said in his most nonchalant voice, as though he didn't have her flopped over his shoulder.

Her laughter rang through the apartment as he walked her out of the kitchen.

"You've already seen my living room, my table, my TV's in there. But down through this hallway, I've got the bathroom here…" He carried her down the hall and pushed the door to the bathroom open more with his foot. "It's got the usual thing goin' on. You know, a sink, a toilet, and shower tub. I was, like, thiiiis close to buying a shower curtain with Batman on it when I first moved in, but my sister told me if I ever brought women home, they'd run away from me screaming."

"Probably good advice," she laughed, her voice nasally from the way he held her upside down.

"Hey!" He shifted her weight on his shoulder and she yelped, grabbing onto his hips in a tight grip with both hands to keep from falling. He made a repetitive beeping sound the way big trucks did when they were backing up, carefully backing out of the bathroom and making her laugh.

"Right here, we've got my laundry unit." He opened a slated door and gestured with a "Voila! Washing machine below, dryer up top. I really like it stacked, you know? Takes up less space."

"I think all of the blood I have in my whole body is in my head," she said, her voice tight. He could hear the amusement still, though. And he had a feeling if she really wanted him to put her down, she'd say it sincerely. Or she'd just get out of it herself. He didn't doubt she knew how to.

"Is it? Hm. Probably shouldn't have splashed me, huh?" He shut the door and did an evil snicker as she groaned miserably.

Chuck finally took her to his bedroom. "This is where the magic happens." She cracked up. "I meant sleeping, but you sure have a dirty mind."

"Oh come on! Literally anybody would make that leap," she said, smacking his hip with an open hand.

He chuckled, and then he finally lowered her carefully off of his shoulder, letting her land on her knees on his bed, his mattress a much softer alternative to the floor, he thought.

She held her head and sniffed, crossing her eyes, still kneeling on his mattress. "Trying to get the blood back into my limbs." She shook her arms a bit.

Chuck tried to ignore the fact that she was on his bed, and he watched her as she swung her observant gaze around his bedroom. Her jaw fell open then as she fastened her gaze on something, and he wondered what embarrassing thing he forgot to put away.

"Holy shit, you have so many comics. It's, like, a whole wall full. You weren't kidding about the nerd thing." She unfurled her long legs and stood up from his bed, which was a relief, making her way towards his comics all lined up in boxes and piled in a precise order he'd categorized them into…that was less of a relief. "Do they all look like this?" she asked then, picking one up from the top of one of the piles. She gave him a flat look as she held it up for him to see the cover.

"Listen. Red Sonja was drawn by dudes for a very long time, and I admit that the outfits can be super skimpy, especially from old runs, but the stories are incredible. It isn't as bad as you think. That's-That's not why I buy them, I mean."

"Mmmmhmm," she hummed, doubt in her face. She put it back down. "You nerds are super touchy about people messing up your nerd collectibles, so I won't touch these toys all lined up here, but if I'd only known you were this big of a nerd, I would've had your coworker Alex fixing my drinks that first night." If he wasn't one hundred percent sure she was teasing him, the tone of her voice would have him convinced.

"Are you looking to get tossed over my shoulder again?"

"Nah, I already got the tour, thanks."

They laughed together and she turned back to the comics and action figures he'd collected over the years. "I must say, Chuck, it seems like with all of this stuff you've got, if you sold it, you might have enough money to open up your own bar. Chuck's Bar. Oooo!" She spun on him her eyes lit up. "I've got it. BARtowski."

Chuck just stared at her for a few moments.

"Get it? BARtowski? Bar? Towski? Bar…"

A laugh burst out of him that was so explosive, it almost made him jump. "I might be a nerd, but you're definitely a huge dork."

"Shut the hell up," she laughed, and he could see a blush on her face as she turned so he could only see her profile.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed, please. That's just another check under Pros in my Pros and Cons of Dating Sarah list."

She raised an eyebrow and he wondered if he should've said that out loud. She took a few slow steps towards him, her hips swinging a bit, almost a sultry sashay or something… And he wondered if he was in some kind of trouble. But then again, at the same time, his heart was racing in a really, really good way.

"You have a Pros and Cons list for dating me?"

"Uh…not a physical list so to speak. Just sorta…keeping track in my head," he admitted, swallowing hard.

"And what's on the Cons side?"

He should've known she'd ask that. He'd done this to himself.

"Uhhhhhhhh…" He licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. "There's only one I can think of…"

"And what's that?"

"She's so beautiful and fun to be around and kind and funny and cool, I'm still not really sure if she's real." He cleared his throat as that mask he kept seeing slid over her features. "But I ended up crossing that one off because you're definitely real. A real human being who is really good at the champagne to orange juice ratio, and also kissing."

The mask was gone and she softened, smiling. Then she outright giggled, shaking her head at him. "You should definitely put another line through that one, just to make sure."

"Yeah, I…"

But she cut him off, stepping up against his chest and pulling him down with both hands on his jaw, kissing him solidly. When she finally pulled back, she tilted her head, her blue eyes sparkling. "That real enough for you?"

"Uh…yeah, I think so."

"You think so?" she asked, arching her eyebrow, and she kissed him again, harder this time. Chuck wasn't sure if his feet were even touching the ground at this point. She pulled back with a smack. "Better?"

"I'm…What? I can't hear. I think my brain exploded and bits of it are clogging my ears."

"Ew!" she laughed, sliding her hands down to his chest. "That was both the cutest and most violently graphic thing anyone's ever said to me, I think."

Chuckling, he took her hand and leaned in to peck her on the lips just one more time. "So…what'll we do next?"

Her eyes flicked unmistakably to his bed before they came back up to him again. He was trying so hard to pretend he didn't notice as she cleared her throat and shrugged. "I-I don't know. Usually I spend this holiday hiding away in a dark hotel room watching TV and pretending it's any other day of the year." She bit her lip. "What do you usually do?"

What he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and lead her back to the bed, but in spite of the fact that he was pretty sure they both wanted the same thing, that wasn't what he invited her here for, and he didn't want her to think that. He really, really didn't want her to think that.

So he grinned, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. "How would you feel about an episode of the Twilight Zone?"

Her face went blank. "What?"

"Twilight Zone," he chirped. "Like…the old show…?"

He frowned when she just stared at him, letting him lead her down the hallway back to his living room. "Wait…have you never heard of the Twilight Zone?"

She gave him a flat look. "I'm a workaholic, Chuck, but I haven't been living under a rock." She giggled. "Of course I've heard of the Twilight Zone. Those guys in those tight colorful outfits who fly through space and do the whole 'Live Long and Prosper' thing," she explained, holding up her free hand with her pointer and middle fingers together, her ring and pinky fingers together, with a space in between.

Chuck stopped outright and stared at her. "Oh my God. You…you, oh my God." But then a mischievous sparkle was in her blue eyes and a slight smile began to grow on her face. "Oooh ho ho. Wow." He laughed. "You got me. You got me with that one."

She beamed with her tongue poking out between her teeth. "Come on, Chuck. I know the difference between The Twilight Zone and Star Wars."

He stopped again as she swept past him, an innocent look on her face.

But she sent him yet another look over her shoulder and he cracked up. "DAMN IT, YOU GOT ME AGAIN! How are you so good at that?!"

}o{

"Oooohhh boy here it comes…" she heard Chuck mutter through a mouthful of pretzels she'd brought. "Here we gooo…"

He was staring at the TV in rapt attention, as if it was the first time he'd seen this episode. But he'd mouthed most of the words throughout the episode, snickering and shaking his head…so she knew this definitely wasn't his first, or even second, time watching this episode of The Twilight Zone.

Sarah smiled a bit to herself and watched as the woman tried to sprint out to the tarmac.

"Mr. Chambers! Don't get on that ship!" she exclaimed, held back by one of the aliens. "The rest of the book…To Serve Man…it's—it's a cookbook!"

"OOOHHHHH!" Chuck yelled, pumping both of his fists over his head. "You better run, Mr. Chambers!"

"What?!" Sarah gasped, leaning forward. She watched as Mr. Chambers reared back in horror, trying to escape, but he was wrestled back onto the ship.

She covered her mouth about a minute later and watched in shock as Mr. Chambers delivered his final line: "Sooner or later, we'll all of us be on the menu. All of us."

"Nooooooooooooooooo, oh my Goddddd," she drawled, holding her head in both hands. "Oh my God, that was such a good twist!"

"Right?"

She made a fist and lightly thumped him on the shoulder a few times. "Oh my God, wow!"

He stood up from the couch, and turned to face her, bowing deeply. "Thank you very much."

"What, thank you? You didn't write this show."

He gasped, pushing his hand against his chest. "I put it on, though, assuming this would be the best one to start with for our Twilight Zone marathon, and I was right."

She laughed, shaking her head, and then she reached over and snagged a mini pretzel. She almost ate it and on second thought, threw it at him, hitting him smack dab in the center of his forehead, exactly where she was aiming.

"H-Hey!" He grabbed the bag of pretzels and held them away from her. "These are for eating!"

Sarah shrugged, smirking up at him. "I bought 'em, I can throw 'em if I want."

He made a face, then tilted his head. "Touché."

Giggling, she scooted off of the couch to pick up the pretzel that bounced off of his head, setting it on the paper plate she'd been using for her snacks. "You said a 'marathon'. Are we seriously going to marathon Twilight Zone on Christmas Day?"

"We don't have to," he chuckled, shaking his head. "It's kind of a tradition for us Bartowskis. We're weirdos."

She smiled warmly. "Really? You'd all just sit around watching a creepy old science fiction show from the sixties? All day long?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "I kind of started it. Me and Morgan, my best bud. And Ellie really had no choice but to sit down and watch with us. And now that we're all adults, she's as much into it as we are. As long as we always get to the Talking Tina episode. That's her one rule. That episode needs to happen every year, because it's her favorite." He laughed, shaking his head.

Sarah watched as he looked down at the pretzels he still held in his hands, and she saw a thread of something there that made her smile dim a bit, even as she felt something stirring in her chest. "You miss your sister, don't you?"

He raised his eyebrows. "What? No, I…"

"Chuck. It's okay," she said, giggling. "You can be having fun with me and still miss your sister. Especially since you've…well, didn't you say you've never done Christmas without her before? This is the first year ever. I get it. I think it's sweet."

He huffed and shrugged. "Okay, yeah. I do miss her. But eventually, she's gonna marry that great guy of hers, they're gonna have a bunch of super healthy and cute kids, and things are gonna really change around here. I'm okay with it." Chuck smiled down at her and then muted the Twilight Zone menu and came to sit beside her, closer than he'd been sitting while they were watching TV. "For the record, I'm really not all that bummed about it," he admitted. "Especially with you being here."

"No?"

"Mm mmm." He shook his head vehemently. "I'm glad she isn't here. She'd say such embarrassing shit about me to you."

"Oh!" She laughed, throwing her head back. "Now _I'm_ the one who misses her."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Is that what I have to look forward to? You two meeting and you digging for embarrassing dirt on me?"

In spite of everything she was going through—maybe especially because of it—all of that actually sounded incredibly good to Agent Sarah Walker. And usually she might not draw attention to what he'd said, in case he hadn't meant to do it, but she was feeling exceptionally comfortable in this particular moment. "Did…you just assign a future to this thing we've got going on? One in which I meet your family?"

Chuck looked unsure for a moment, almost as if he'd done it without even realizing it, and somehow that made it all the more meaningful. "I…think I did. Yeah. Is…that okay?"

Sarah nibbled on the inside of her cheek, knowing she was blushing. "Yeah. It's okay."

For a good twenty seconds, he looked like he might kiss her, and she really wanted him to take the initiative and do it. But he didn't. Instead he turned to look over his shoulder out the window.

"It's not raining. Do you…think you'd be up for going outside for a walk or something?" He turned back to her with hope in his brown eyes. "I'd hafta change outta these PJs into some jeans, and put shoes on instead of slippers. But there's a bakery on the corner and a park one block after that. We can have muffins or something and watch the ducks in the pond… OR!" he said when she didn't respond right away. "Instead of that, we can stay here and watch more TV. Eat what we have here."

"Let's go," she said, grinning. "I could go for a warm muffin and some ducks playing in ponds."

He clapped his hands together with a, "Break!" and then leapt up to his feet, bracing them on the cushions of the couch as she laughed. Then he vaulted over the back of the couch and raced for the hallway. "I'll be right back. Get those cute boots on!"

Sarah let her cheek fall to the back of the couch and she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She didn't understand what kind of weird freaking Christmas this was, but she knew it was nothing like the one she'd always seen in the movies. A big family sitting around a dinner table eating some large cooked bird, everyone wearing big smiles, opening gifts…

They'd just watched The Twilight Zone, for God's sake, and they were going to get muffins and watch some ducks in a park. He even had splayed out an array of takeout menus for her to pick from for dinner later. It was… so strange. And so warm. And it felt so good.

It felt so normal and human and…messy. Everything up in the air, nothing planned. Truly just…chill, like he'd promised.

And she wanted it. She wanted the freedom of this. She wanted him too.

She got up from the couch and walked around to the door where she left her "cute boots", huffing in amusement as she stepped into them. She thought saying yes to Chuck's Christmas invitation might prove to be one of the best decisions she'd ever made, and it wasn't even noon yet.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh my God when I first watched that episode of Twilight Zone, my child mind was so blown that I couldn't stop thinking about it and talking about it for WEEKS. If this chapter spoiled it for you, I can't feel all that bad about it, though, BECAUSE THAT EPISODE AIRED IN 1962 AND YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT BY NOW. What are you, a super secret CIA agent who's locked themselves up from society and buried themselves in the spy life since they were in high school?

Anyway, thanks for reading. Review. Love ya. All that. Bye for a hot second.

-SC


	9. Chapter 9

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary:** A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**A/N:** Thanks for all of your kind words, folks! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

* * *

It was chilly and damp out on Christmas Day in Los Angeles, California. But the air was crisp and refreshing, and as much as Sarah made fun of him the other night for being an LA boy complaining about the cold, he was actually enjoying how cool it was today. Because it was Christmas, and this was decidedly Christmas weather.

For LA.

She'd laugh at him if she heard his thoughts.

As it was, she was quiet, walking next to him with her hands shoved in her coat pockets, taking in everything surrounding her. She smiled extra wide as a tiny schnauzer was walked past by his child owner with her hair in pigtails and wearing a coat with a fur-lined hood.

Chuck Bartowski had lived enough of his life and met enough people to be outright confused by the things Sarah had said to him about her own life. The way she was so sure she was bad at interacting with people, the way she seemed to work, go home, go back to work, and had nobody she spent time with. It was almost as if she felt like she existed on a plane that didn't coincide with the plane everyone else was existing on. As if she was in a different dimension that sometimes overlapped with everyone else's.

He wanted to ask her more about her job, more about her life. But he was resisting. At least with the big stuff. Because he just got the feeling it wasn't something she really wanted to talk about. And he had enough time to learn that about her.

He felt like this was going pretty well, after all…

"So…how long have you been in LA?"

"Is it that obvious I'm not a native Angeleno?"

"Yes." She sent him a look and he laughed, holding his hands up. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing! It's not! LA is a melting pot. We welcome folks from all over the world. I'm really not doing myself any favors here, am I?"

"Nope," she giggled. "What is it about me that says I'm not from here?"

"Well, first of all, you made fun of me about the cold during our date the other night. Meaning you're used to cold."

She winced. "I did do that, didn't I?"

"Yes. And it's okay, I'm pretty sure I deserved it."

"No, you didn't," she drawled, pouting a bit as she squeezed his arm. "I was just being a turd."

He laughed. "You can tease me. I like it when you tease me."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Just when _I_ tease you?"

He smirked a little. "Maybe."

She looked pleased by that and then shrugged. "Well, you're right. I haven't lived here for long. I was only here for a few weeks before I walked into your bar that night for the first time."

"Oh, wow. So you're _brand_ new." She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek and looking away. "So nobody's given you a tour of LA yet, have they?" She gave him a look. "I know, I know. You've told me. All ya do is work and go to Casey's Bar now."

She laughed. "Makes me sound like a workaholic and an alcoholic."

"A workalcoholic." He shrugged when she furrowed his brow at him. "Sorry. Sounded funnier in my head." Snorting, she rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. "And I know you're not an alcoholic. You were just coming in there after that first night because of my really good hair and these soulful brown eyes." He pointed to each of those things respectively, making her crack up.

"You're right. I can't handle the curly dark hair and brown eye combo. Like one of those black cocker spaniels."

Chuck rocked forward with a laugh. "Great! Now I'm a cocker spaniel!"

She snorted and shrugged as if he'd gotten himself into this, and he supposed she was right. He had to give her that.

"No, seriously, I can show you around. I'd love to do that. Show you the good places to eat, the best movie theater, good coffee shops…"

"Those all sound a little bit like…date activities. But that must only be a coincidence, huh?"

"Oh, definitely. Definitely a coincidence. Mhmm." He smirked, bumping her shoulder back and making her smile. "Really, though, I mean it. If you gotta live in LA, I'm basically the perfect guide since I've been here all my life. I know how to avoid annoying tourists, too."

"Wow, okay. That sold me. You've got a deal, pal." She stuck her hand out and he took it eagerly.

"Just know, Sarah, that you shook on this and it's practically carved in stone now. So that when I end up taking you to a place you absolutely despise, you're still stuck with me. You can't pull out of the contract and tell me to take a hike." He shrugged. "Them's the rules."

"That's not fair," she argued. "You didn't even let me read the contract before I signed it. I never would've signed it if I'd known about this."

"So sorry. Too late now. Carved in stone."

Giggling, she took his wrist in both of her hands and cuddled up close to his side, casting her eyes towards the building they were nearing. "This the bakery you talked about?"

"Yep, this is the one. Poor folks are here on Christmas Day baking instead of at home with their families." He paused. "And I guess I'm kind of contributing to that by coming here and buying muffins from them."

"Well, they're gonna be here selling muffins whether we're the ones buying them from them or not, right?"

He chuckled. "Good point!" He grabbed the door handle and pulled the door open, holding it for her to go in first. Monroe was behind the counter, pulling a pink-dusted pan out and slipping it into a bag for a little girl and her grandma. "Hey, Monroe!"

"Well, hello there, Mr. Bartowski. I'll be right with ya." He handed the little girl the bag with the pan, then waved his customers off, going back to his register and completing the sale.

Chuck walked up and eyed the muffins. "Fresh baked this morning, looks like."

"Hey. It's always fresh baked, wise guy." He reached over and nudged Chuck's shoulder, chuckling. "And who's this?"

"Oh. Gosh, yeah. Sorry. This is Monroe, his dad owns the bakery. Monroe, this is Sarah. She's…" He didn't know why his throat closed up in that moment, both of them watching him expectantly.

And just like that, Sarah thrusted her hand out for the baker's son to take. "I'm Chuck's girlfriend."

He felt like the floor fell out from under him and he'd just fallen down a rabbit's hole like Alice or something. And this was some sort of Wonderland…

Chuck barely got a hold of himself and cleared his throat, turning to ask Monroe about the muffin selection, or literally freaking anything. Cakes, maybe? Maybe he'd buy a cake or a pie. Holy shit. She'd just called herself his girlfriend. Holy shit. Code Red.

"Hold on! Hold on, hold on. You're his girlfriend?" Monroe pointed at Chuck, his blond eyebrows nearly disappearing into his blond curls.

Sarah nodded. "Mhm."

Monroe turned to flash Chuck wide eyes, then grinned. "Well, all right." When Sarah turned to look over her shoulder at Chuck, Monroe took advantage of her looking the other way to mouth, "NICE!" at him, miming a slow clap.

Chuck cleared his throat. "Still in the mood for a muffin, h-honey?" He winced hard even as it came out of his mouth.

What the fuck? Was he doing?

She gave him a weirded out look, then bit her lip, her lips twitching as if she was trying to keep from laughing. "Yeah. Wanna share the cranberry crumble? That looks good." When he opened his mouth to agree, she put a hand on his arm. "I change my mind, I want one of my own. It looks too good to share."

"I like her. I like you, Sarah." Monroe chuckled and went into his case to grab Sarah her muffin. "For you, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Aw hell, let's do the mocha nut one. That sounds yummy."

Monroe went into the case with a beaming grin on his face. "Breaking from the norm, huh? I think you're good for him. Every time he comes in here, it's blueberry, blueberry, blueberry…"

"That's not true. I got banana nut. Once. Your mom was here. You just weren't here. That's why you didn't see it. But I did get banana nut."

Sarah laughed, seemingly delighted by the conversation. "Creature of habit, huh?"

"Only with muffins. Don't judge me. I got the mocha nut this time, okay?"

Chuck paid as she giggled off to the side.

"Don't be a stranger, Mr. Bartowski. And you, you treat him right. He's a good kid."

Chuck shook his head. Monroe Espinoza was maybe only five years older than he was, at the most.

They got outside and Chuck let out a long breath. The air was suddenly a bit awkward and tense between them and he felt ridiculous. "Well! Uh… Heh. Yeah. Muffins."

She winced. "That was me. Wasn't it?" She turned to look up at him, contrition written all over her beautiful face. "I told him I was your girlfriend. That was… oh my God, I'm just realizing that was really…"

"No, it-it's okay. I just…I didn't expect it."

"Right, 'cause I'm not—we're not. And I shouldn't have just…bleehh blurted it." She motioned with her hand to demonstrate words tumbling out of her mouth. "And that put you in a super awkward spot."

"No, it … didn't."

"It did, Chuck. I'm sorry. We've been on one freaking date, and then this, today, and I just _had _to be super clueless. It's this, you know? It's the fact that I'm…this isn't something I'm good at. I told you. God, one date, and I'm…I'm just not good at this, Chuck. I apologize for making things so uncomfortable. Seriously."

She looked miserable. Sincerely.

And he found himself almost frustrated suddenly. He fought to keep it from showing, in case she thought he was frustrated about the wrong thing. He grabbed her hand and stopped her before she could cross the street. It wasn't even in the right direction of the park, anyway. And he pulled her to the side so that they were out of the way.

"Hey, you gotta stop this, Sarah." She frowned, looking unsure. But she listened anyway. And he was grateful. "You keep saying you're bad at this…this, this…the dating thing. Us dating. You keep apologizing for the way you are. Thinking you're making this experience of hanging out with you super awful for me. And nothing could be further from the truth." She blinked. "What, you think I'm some kind of professional dater? A professional relationship haver?" He scoffed. "I can count the amount of girlfriends I've had on one hand. And those did not turn out well, and I'm not willing to blame it all on them. Shit, I don't what I'm doing, either. Especially not with someone as incredible as you are. I'm totally…I mean, you are way outta my league, Sarah. When people see me with you they're super confused (and/or proud of me) by a woman like you…even looking at a guy like me once, let alone twice. I'm stumbling through this too. You think you're fucking up and that you're super out of place and not doing the right things… As if _I_ _am_?"

He widened his eyes and shook his head vehemently. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doin', Sarah. I'm…Honestly, I just like you. A lot. Maybe announcing yourself as my girlfriend before, um, before we had that conversation was…a little…well, not usually what people do. A little premature, maybe. But it also _wasn't_? Because as freaked out as I was—I mean, I freakin' called you 'honey' for some really weird reason that I can't figure out as if I'd call you that even if you were my girlfriend—" He shook his head at himself as a small smile cracked on her face. "I really don't dislike the idea of, um, of you being my girlfriend. In fact, that's…not a bad idea at all. I kinda…dig it."

Her eyes widened at that. "Do you?" There was an undertone of flirtation there and it was unmistakable.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "And you saw me spiraling in there, Sarah. Come on. I don't have my shit together in any way, shape, or form. So stop feeling like you're fucking everything up, that there's…something wrong with you that's any different from what every person deals with in a new…relationship."

He huffed, deciding to go out on a limb and just admit it. "Whatever thoughts you've got going on in your head, whatever self-conscious shit, the second-guessing and anxiety you have in there…I've got it, too, simultaneously. Right here." He pointed to his forehead. "Only multiply it by ten. I gotta say this again. There's a reason Monroe was so surprised when you told him you're my girlfriend. You're objectively stunning. And super, super nice. And to even the untrained eye, you're way far out of my league."

She blushed and took a deep breath, shaking her head. "I'm not giving you that one. You need to work on valuing yourself more, too, Chuck Bartowski. But the rest of what you said…" She sighed and reached out to grab his hand, squeezing it with a grateful look on her face. "Thank you. For all of it. And for keeping me in check. It's hard not to second-guess everything because I don't…do this. Date. And I just feel…the opposite of normal."

"Well…you are normal, Sarah. And then…" He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "And then you're not. You seem kind of extraordinary. Which is a lot better than normal."

"Right now, I'd settle for not having a meltdown in the middle of the sidewalk on Christmas Day while I should be having fun with a…pretty great guy."

He smiled big, and then he cupped her face and moved in for a kiss. It had to be chaste, what with the people walking past them and the good-natured whistles from a few passing teenagers.

Sarah pulled back and ducked her head with a giggle.

"Hey." She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "Be nicer to yourself."

She nodded, smiling, and then she reached up and fixed one of his curls affectionately, before they took off in the direction of the park.

}o{

He was right and she knew it.

She was so ready for this great experiment of hers to fail, to prove she's unworthy of a real life outside of the spy life, to prove she couldn't handle it. She was purposely setting herself up to fail, punishing herself for even the slightest missteps.

Didn't regular girls make missteps? Chuck was a regular guy, and he admitted to making missteps, too.

She was so conditioned to be perfect as a CIA agent, the perfect shot, the perfect disguise, saying the perfect thing to get what she needed, perfect missions, perfect paperwork, perfectly precise, perfectly deadly.

And she was applying it to this normal stuff concept, to trying to find some semblance of a life outside of the CIA. The fact was that life wasn't perfect and humans weren't perfect.

_Be nicer to yourself._

It was incredibly sweet, but she was one hundred percent sure that the bartender and Nerd Herd supervisor walking beside her on this sweet path that led around the large pond had absolutely no idea that she had killed people, kidnapped people, manipulated and lied, but mostly…she'd killed people. Enough people. One was enough, wasn't it?

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching a duck flap around and splash water on its fellow ducks, making them squawk in annoyance.

Their muffins were gone, obliterated really, their trash thrown away, hands free. And that was how she found a hand gently wrap around hers, blanketing her frigid fingers in warmth.

Sarah turned to look up at him, her eyes searching his face as he then moved both of their hands to stuff it into his coat pocket.

"It's cold," he explained. "Sorry. You can have your hand back if…"

"I don't want it back," she said immediately. "It's okay."

Chuck grinned, then faced forward and kept walking.

Here he was holding her hand, and in spite of her faux pas at the bakery—calling herself his girlfriend, which was so ill-advised and jumping the gun, and just plain embarrassing and senseless. She'd apologized and he'd gone off on his magnificently kind and sweet tirade at her immediate self-dragging. But he really hadn't confirmed or denied whether or not what she'd told the baker's son was true. Was she his girlfriend? Did he consider her his girlfriend? Did he want that? Or was he just being nice when he told her it was "okay" that she said that?

She had to bite her lip to keep from letting him see her amusement when she thought of how he'd randomly called her "honey", as if overcompensating to try to back up her claim they were boyfriend and girlfriend.

It was so freaking adorable and kind of hilarious. He'd called _her_ a dork?

Sarah looked out at the water, starting to find the silence to be a little too long, like maybe she should fill it with something. She felt his thumb stroke the back of her hand in his pocket and it was like the warmth had immediately flooded through her arm and into the rest of her body.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep him from noticing that his small, seemingly insignificant gesture, had an effect on her. Why had it felt so intimate?

"How-How was the, um, the mocha nut muffin in comparison to what you usually get? Was it blueberry he said?"

Chuck turned and gave her a teasingly perturbed look, before chuckling and shaking his head. "It's blueberry. And honestly? As good as mocha nut was…? Eeeeehhhhhh I should've stuck with blueberry."

She laughed. "Nooooo. Really? I tasted it and it tasted pretty good!"

"Yeah, it was good. But was it as good as blueberry? Nah." He shook his head. "The blueberry muffin is a staple, it's popular, for a reason. Blueberries and muffins are the perfect pairing. And yeah, that probably makes me sound super boring. I mean, you must think I'm super dull right now, but that's because I am."

"Oh, shut up," she giggled, pushing at him with the hand that was still buried in his coat pocket. He chuckled, staggering a bit and pulling her with him, before correcting and bumping her shoulder with his. "You're not boring. It's a muffin. It isn't that serious."

"I know, I know. I guess I really am sort of a creature of habit in a lot of ways. I get the same coffee, same muffin. When I go to the sandwich place in the Buy More parking lot for lunch, I get the same sandwich. I'm sort of…unworldly. And you, you travel and you've been all over the place, and you get raspberry muffins with crumble on top…"

Sarah cracked up and shook her head. "Nooo, no. Don't even. I find myself wishing sometimes that I'd chosen something that would allow me the…time and the opportunity…to actually pick up…habits. To settle into some kind of routine. Have some…normalcy. Buying the same type of coffee, the same type of muffin or sandwich, ordering the same dinner at the same restaurant. Getting the same drink from the bar." She smirked at him and got a slow smile back. "There's nothing wrong with that. It's something I'm trying to learn. Being stationary, here in LA, for…I don't know for how long…"

"I hope for a while," he said almost immediately. "Not sure if it's okay for me to say that," he added when she turned wide eyes on him. He stopped and turned to face her, pulling her to stop in front of him and using her hand in his pocket to bring her in closer. "But I'd like the chance to get muffins with you at that bakery again, whether you get the same muffin or try everything on the menu. Their pan is super good." She giggled through her nose, beaming up at him, her heart beating a mile a minute. "Maybe get a chance to come here with you, walk here, watch the ducks…maybe you'll still be here by the time it gets a little warmer?" He gave her a hopeful smile that was adorably crooked.

She had no idea what was in store for her, and he didn't know anything about her, about her career, her plans. He didn't even know where she worked or why she was in LA in the first place.

Still, she couldn't dim the light in his brown eyes.

"I would really love that." She shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe I can teach you how to kick teenagers' asses with a laser blaster, too."

She watched as his features crumbled and he bit his bottom lip between his teeth and made a groaning sound deep in his chest. "Did you use that word on purpose?" She frowned in confusion, not sure what exactly she'd said to elicit that response, but she wasn't complaining. "Blaster. You said laser blaster."

"Isn't that…kinda what it is? It's laser tag. You have the gun thing that blasts people."

"It's almost too sexy that you said that now that I know you didn't do it on purpose."

"What?" She wasn't sure how she was this pleased and confused both all at the same time. It felt strange. She was buzzing.

"That's what they call their guns in Star Wars. The blasters. You know? The peeoom peeoom from Stormtroopers who, like, never actually hit their targets?"

She laughed and rocked forward. "Oh! Is it? Guess I forgot…" She tilted her head then, giving him a look. "Really? That's all I had to say? Blaste—?"

But she couldn't finish the word even before she found his lips on hers. Even as he kissed her, she felt that intimate swipe of his thumb over the back of her hand, and she kissed him back, reaching up with her free hand that wasn't still stuck in his pocket to grab onto the nape of his neck and pull him in close. She felt him shiver at her touch and she almost felt bad, knowing her hand was probably cold. But then his other arm wrapped around her lower back and brought her flush against his body.

Everything inside of her flared to life…parts of her that had long been dormant catching fire.

She heard herself make a soft, whimpering sound as she dragged her hand up into his curls and held on tight, twisting her fist in them.

The cold winter air in this Los Angeles park couldn't penetrate the bubble of absolute heat that formed around them as they made out there in the middle of the path by the pond. She wanted to do more than just have her hand in his coat pocket. She wanted to climb inside of it and wrap herself around him.

But she didn't.

Because just as he opened his mouth in invitation, his grip on her tightening so that their fronts were pressed close together, hips perfectly aligned, she felt a peculiar sensation against her inner thigh. A…vibrating, buzzing…and she'd been with men enough to know that wasn't how this worked…

She realized what it was, then, and she pulled back from the kiss, still clinging to him, their noses brushing. "You're buzzing," she panted, biting her lip.

"Hell yeah I am," he grumbled.

A heated shock blasted through her but still she giggled. "No. Chuck. Buzzing. Your phone. Someone's calling your phone."

He blinked. "Oh. Oh! Right! You meant the—Right. Of course." He cleared his throat and stepped back, letting go of her hand which had gotten downright clammy wrapped up in his. He fished in the front pocket of his jeans and pulled his phone out. "I, um, it's my sister. I don't hafta—"

"Answer it. Please." He gave her a questioning look. "Go ahead."

She fixed him with a smile that seemed to finally persuade him.

}o{

God.

Damn.

Ellie's timing, god damn.

He fought back a frustrated tone as he answered it. "Hey, El. Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, brother of miiiine! How are yooou? How's Christmas going over there? Run out of video games yet?"

"Haaaaa. No. First of all, there's no way I could ever run out of video games. These things take forever to get to the end of the story now, and even then, you can go back through again and find new—Ahem, anyways, not important. Secondly!" He held up a finger and sent Sarah a look that made her snort and shake her head. "I haven't picked up a single video game, I'll have you know."

"What? I don't believe you."

"Oh, believe it, sis." He cleared his throat then. "How's that beach house treating you two?"

"Oh. My God." He knew that was the perfect way to get her from digging too deep. "It's such a god send. This place is heaven. Even in winter. ALSO, can I just say this without you getting all grossed out?"

"Probably not."

She continued as if he hadn't said anything at all. "It feels so so so so so so so so good—"

"Oh my God."

"—to be alone with my boyfriend again."

"Great," he deadpanned.

"I mean, just the two of us? All alone in this big house? No one on the beach but us?"

"You two are laying out on the beach in this weather? It's like…twenty degrees!" Sarah gave him a look and he corrected it, rolling his eyes. "Okay fine. Like…forty-nine."

Her smirk almost distracted him from the fact that he'd just given his sister a massive in, purely by accident.

"Who are talking to?"

Chuck blanched. "What? Hm?"

"You just corrected yourself….as if someone is standing right there and gave you a 'stop exaggerating' look. The way I would if I were there."

"No, I didn't."

"Yeah. Ya did. WHO ARE YOU WITH, CHUCK?"

And he knew then that the gig was up. Because he wasn't going to lie to her. He wasn't going to pretend he was with the Caseys, or that a few of the Buy Morons had gotten together with Herders to celebrate. She'd know he was lying, because he'd told her in the lead-up to Christmas that it would be way too awkward spending a holiday with his boss's family, and that he'd rather jump off a bridge onto the 10 freeway than know what those Buy More folks got up to on Christmas.

Anyway, he was bad at lying to Ellie. And he really didn't want to keep this from her. Because he was feeling pretty fucking good about it. And had nothing to be ashamed of. He would just have to make sure he pulled the phone away from his ear.

And…also…

He winced and covered the mouthpiece of his phone. "Sarah, um…you mind if I tell her…you're, um…that you're…?"

"Spending Christmas with you?" she asked, pursing her lips and twisting them to the side shyly. And then she shook her head no.

Chuck felt a slow grin growing on his face.

"Chuck? You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. I was just…talking to someone."

"WHO?" she practically barked.

"Uh, I'm not spending the day alone like I know you were fretting about. I found someone to hang out with. And she's here and—"

"SHE?!"

"Yep. She. Seems the both of us had no one to spend the holiday with so…now we're spending it together." He smiled softly at Sarah, taking her in, really taking her in, and deciding he was feeling bold. Really bold. "We're dating. Actually."

"CHARLES IRVING!"

There was a muffled sound, and then he heard Captain Awesome's voice going, "What? What is it? What happened?"

"HE'S DATING! A PERSON! DEVON!"

"A person?" Chuck exclaimed into his phone. "As opposed to what?"

But then he caught sight of the look on Sarah's face, the way she was staring at him with wider eyes than usual, her eyebrows raised, a slight smile on her face. Was that her reaction to him telling his sister they were dating? He wasn't sure if that look meant she was pleased or…not.

"When did this happen?" her sister asked, seeming to have come down from Cloud Nine.

"It's…happening? Right now?"

"Stop it. You know what I mean," she said as he chuckled.

"Uhhhh…well…" Sarah gave him a dubious look. "Um."

"Oh, duh. She's standing right there, isn't she? You can tell me later. OR YOU CAN TEXT ME. TEXT ME ABOUT HER. That's a good idea!"

"Okay, okay. Okay. I will. I just wanted to make sure that you know…I am not alone. You can stop fretting and picturing me sadly eating cheese puffs on my couch and watching old Pokémon cartoons."

Sarah snorted and covered her mouth, her eyes big over her hands covering the bottom half of her face. It made him grin and shake his head at her.

"You're spending the holiday with a human girl and I'm so proud of you. I'm not going to fret. I'm just going to be so freaking excited. Don't forget to text me, okay? In a secret way where she doesn't think you're texting your sister a bunch of things about her because that's rude. Don't hang up and immediately text me because she'll know. I'm assuming she's smart and observant because that's the kind of girl you deserve."

Chuck just laughed outright. "Yeah, El, I got it. Thanks."

"Sorry. I'm just … God, honestly, Chuck? You have a girlfriend. You have a girlfriend and I'm really happy for you. Do you like her? You can answer that, right?"

"Yes. I do. And…I mean…well…" He was about to tell her to slow down. Was Sarah his girlfriend? That wasn't the same thing as dating. But…

"Yeah. I really, really do."

Maybe he wouldn't correct Ellie, not just because Sarah was standing right in front of him, hearing at least one side of the conversation. But because he definitely wanted it to be true.

"Then you're having a good Christmas, I take it?" she asked, glee spilling out of every last facet of her voice.

"It's been a pretty amazing Christmas so far, yeah. And the day's barely half over."

"Oh my God, this right here is my Christmas gift." Chuck threw his head back with a laugh. "_This right here_ _is my Christmas gift._ You don't have to get me anything else, Chuck."

"Good, 'cause I wasn't gonna. So…"

Ellie laughed, sounding happier than he'd heard her in a while. "Well, listen, I'm not taking you away from her any longer. Tell her I said hello and that she's the LUCKIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD."

"I won't tell her that."

"WHY?" Ellie exclaimed.

Sarah raised her eyebrows and pulled her chin back. Chuck cleared his throat. "Um. Because. Love ya, sis. Tell Captain Awesome I said Merry Christmas."

"His name is Devon."

"Right. Captain Devon Awesome."

She groaned. "Okay, now I'm really getting off the phone with you." He laughed. "Have a good rest of your Christmas, huh? And I love you."

"Love you too, El. Merry Christmas."

He hung up and stuck his phone back in his pocket, wincing even as he smiled. "Soooo…that was my sister."

"What won't you tell me?"

"Hm? I don't know what you mean." He took a few steps away from her, backing up. But she reached out and grabbed onto his arm, a warning look on her face. "No, we were just chatting about, you know, the fact that you and me are…dating. We're dating, right?"

Sarah held him in place and raised her eyebrow. "Yeah. We're dating."

He grinned, his chest feeling like it was flooding with warmth.

"But what won't you tell me?"

"Nothing."

"You should just tell me what it is."

"It's nothing."

"It's something. You blushed. I wanna know."

"You're not gonna know."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Oh, come onnnnn," she whined, letting her head fall back, her chin jutting out, lips in a pout. It was ridiculously effective and he was almost taken aback by just how effective.

"No. Don't do that. Don't make that face at me."

"What do you mean?" She made the face harder, then laughed when he groaned, still walking backwards down the path that led out of the park.

"Aggghhh…" He shook his fist at her, then huffed. "Fine. She told me to tell you hi, which is all well and good, but then she told me to also tell you that…" He winced. "You're the luckiest girl in the world."

She smirked and tilted her head to the side. "You know, I just might be."

Chuck stopped, furrowing his brow in question. He hadn't expected her to agree with it like that.

"I got a second chance with you after I screwed up the would-be first date. I'd say that's pretty lucky."

He shook his head. "That isn't luck. That's me having even an ounce of sense in me, enough to see that you're extraordinarily special. And no straight man with any God damn sense would ever let someone like you get away, whether she stood him up the first time or not. You're totally worth it, Sarah."

Her smile was soft and incredibly pleased, and he spotted a blush on her cheeks.

"I'm never living down the whole standing you up thing, am I?"

"Uhhhh, probably not, no."

She giggled and nodded once. "That's fair."

"Doesn't mean I haven't forgiven you tenfold."

Raising an eyebrow, she slid in close and slipped her hands into his coat pockets, giving him a flirtatious tug and looking him right in his eyes, a mischievous sparkle in her blue gaze. "With the way you just kissed me before your sister called, I'd hope so."

Chuck found himself standing there, blinking dumbly, as she swept around him and made her way toward the street.

"You comin'?"

Snapping out of it, he let out a rough breath and spun on his heel, trotting after her.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for being here, thanks for reading, thanks for the review you're about to leave eeehhh? EEEHHHH? (nudge)

-SC


	10. Chapter 10

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary:** A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**A/N:** DID YOU ALL KNOW THAT TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY? I BET NOT BUT YOU DO NOW! For my birthday, I request that you read this chapter. And then, totally unrelated to this chapter, go out into the world and be nice to someone. Do that. That'd be grand. ENJOY!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

* * *

The win was hers for the taking, but he'd really given her a run for her money. And she had to admit, Determined Chuck was quickly becoming her favorite Chuck. Especially when mixed with Focused Chuck. And a small side of Competitive Chuck. These weren't things she'd experienced from him yet, and now that she had, she found she liked it.

A lot.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he licked his lips and reached over to pick up the tightly folded piece of paper. She grabbed at his hand and held it tight, keeping him from his goal.

"Hey. My shot. My football," she growled at him, raising an eyebrow.

"The edge is coming untucked," he reasoned, shrugging. "I was gonna fix it, that's all."

"Uh huh, sure." She narrowed her eyes at him, smirking. "You're like those guys in basketball who tilt the rim just enough so that when someone shoots, it bounces out instead of in."

"Who does that?" he asked, making a face.

"…Shut up. Just… Hands off my paper thingy."

"My hands aren't on your paper thingy." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Ooohh…"

"Oh, come on! That was awful," she cackled. "It didn't even work for that situation."

"Who says?" he laughed.

She let go of him but swatted at his hand.

"Ah! Ow! Don't injure the team kicker!" He pulled his hand back to his chest and cradled it protectively. "I need this to make my last shot. Damn! Trying to cheat. Injure my flicking finger." He turned bright red when she pursed her lips and gave him a supremely salacious look. "Get your head out of the gutter."

She barked out a laugh, throwing her head back. "You're the one who said flicking fing—"

"Just make your damn shot, you wicked _wicked_ woman." He gave her an adorable smolder and settled back against his seat at the table, crossing his arms for a moment until she pulled the paper to her and stood it up on its head, holding it with one finger while prepping her right hand to aim.

"Field goal posts up, please."

"Ah. Yes. Of course."

He lifted his fingers and propped his elbows on the tabletop. And then he hunched down a bit as if he was afraid she'd flick it right at his face, just like she already had over six times now. And every time he complained she was going to take his eye out, even as he looked impressed by how damn good she was at this game.

"You're about to win, aren't you?" he grumbled, and she got the feeling by the semi turned on look he was wearing on his face that he wasn't going to be all that upset about it when she did.

"Maybe. Don't jinx me."

"You believe in jinxes? Fate? Destiny?" He leaned in and growled a little. "What's destiny to a woman of action?"

She flicked the paper football and it sailed through the air, churning a bit. It had felt wrong the moment she released her finger to flick it. And she knew it was wrong when it smacked into his pointer finger just enough to bounce off and continue shooting past to smack into Chuck's shoulder.

"She missed!" he yelled. "No points for you! I have a chance! I have a chaaaance!"

Chuck looked up at the ceiling and started pumping his fists over his head, celebrating as she giggled and shook her head. She was honestly a little miffed that she'd blown it. And this would send the game into yet another damn round. She could've freaking ended it here, God damn it.

She watched as he went to pick it up off the floor, holding it triumphantly as he strutted back to the table and plopped into his seat, his back to the window.

"Okay, gloat all you want, but you still have to make this, and while jinxes, fate, and destiny might not be real, karma is."

"I never said those things weren't real," he said, raising one finger in a scholarly way. "I happen to think it's fate that I whoop your gorgeous ass at this game of paper football. It is my destiny," he announced in an epic fantasy trailer narrator's voice. That was how it had sounded to her, at least.

"Okay, Destiny Boy, go ahead then," she giggled, propping her elbows on the table and holding her fingers up.

Chuck leaned down and made a show of being meticulous about the way he set up the football, almost seeming to measure the angles. She snorted and shook her head. But then he got low enough to press his chin into the table and it gave her a perfect view out of his window.

Just then there was a glint or something that came from a window in the building across the street. Just the slightest glint a few floors up and to the right…

A glint she knew very well.

Like the sunlight hitting the barrel of a sniper rifle at just the right angle to send the ray of light crashing into her eyesight.

She moved like lightning, lunging for Chuck, grabbing his sweatshirt by the lapel, and yanking him down and to the side.

There was a quiet cracking of glass, a zooming sound, like a bullet slicing through the air, and then the loud crack of the bullet hitting the table right where they'd both just been sitting, sending wood chips flying up into the air.

"What the hell?!" Chuck yelled. "What's—? WHO IS SHOOTING AT US?! DID SOMEONE JUST SHOOT A GUN AT US?! DID WE JUST GET SNIPED?!"

"Keep down!" she yelled, dragging him over against the wall beside the window and pinning him there. They'd been in this position before, him sitting slumped against the wall, Sarah straddling him. "Shit!" she cursed, glancing at over her shoulder at their situation. Where could they get to without the sniper spotting their position? Could she get to the kitchen? The kitchen would have the most weapons, out of every room in this apartment. But was there a safe path?

She had to make her path safe. She couldn't protect Chuck if she was taken out.

"Do. Not. Move," she said through a clenched jaw.

"What the fuck is going on?" he hissed. "Why am I being shot at? I'm a bartender! An IT guy! Why am I being shot at like I'm some kind of drug trafficker?! I am not Jason Bour—"

She clamped her hand over his mouth. "Just hold on. I'm figuring this out. Take some deep breaths."

He glared at her a little over her hand and she supposed she deserved it for being a little patronizing, but damn it, this was life and death, here. And she could have him distracting her.

Sarah saw the wand to shut the blinds was just a few inches above her head and to her left. If she could reach it without being shot, that would improve their situation quite a bit.

But before she could reach for it, there was a loud banging on his door.

She spun to stare at the door, her heart in her throat. They were here.

The banging was louder, an ear-splitting pounding, the door shifting on its hinges with each slam of a fist against the wood.

This was it. Whoever had shot at her from across the way had accomplices who'd come up the stairs and was kicking in the door to kill her. And she wasn't alone. Chuck was here with her. She'd been followed, maybe. Stalked.

They slammed their fists against the door again. Louder…louder…

_Bang! Bang! BANG!_

Sarah jolted awake, breathing hard, blinking at the ceiling, frowning in confusion. Her heart was racing, and for a moment, she wasn't sure where she was. And then she heard voices, one louder, one quieter.

"Uh, no. No, power's fine here…"

"Internet's not fucked up for you 'cause it's fucked up for me!" the louder voice said.

"Um, no…All good. Sorry about your power. The, um, Internet I'm not sure of becau—"

"Well, can you check?"

There was a slight pause, a sigh, and then finally. "Uh, a little patchy but nothing new there. Have you tried asking Paul? Maybe he can—"

"Paul's on fuckin' vacation! Didn't you read that email he sent out? Shit!" the other man snapped. "I hate this stupid-ass place. Did you smell the piss smell in the elevator the other night?"

"I try to avoid smelling piss smells, typically."

"Ha ha. Funny," the other man snarked. "All right, well. Whatever, I'll figure it out."

There was the sound of boots thumping, and the soft click of the door shutting, the lock being turned. "Merry Christmas," the voice she recognized grumbled, "asshole…"

She knew she was in Chuck's apartment by now, that she'd nodded off after eating that muffin and galavanting through the park. She'd come over to the couch and allowed herself to stretch her lithe body out over it, immediately falling asleep. It had been an accident, but it was rude to just lie down on someone's furniture and fall asleep when they invited you over. She regretted it now, what with that shitty nightmare.

Agent Walker took a moment to try to shake it off. But it sent a chill through her, thinking about the terror that had shot through her when she'd seen that glint in the window across the street, the moment she realized what it was. The sickening crack of the wood exploding as the high calibre bullet slammed into it. And the horror in Chuck's face as he figured out what was happening.

This was the reality of her existence as a CIA agent. People would be gunning after her if they knew who she was and where to find her. That was why she'd been attacked in her car a few weeks earlier.

She wondered if her brain was subconsciously trying to warn her about what might happen if she allowed herself to form a connection with someone. The way she'd cut herself off from her mom for a reason—to keep her and Molly safe. Her brain was trying to warn her that someone could find her, and if she was with Chuck when that happened, he might end up getting the bullet or whatever else they tried to use to kill her instead.

Sarah had built herself up to this point, sharing Christmas Day with someone who led a regular life, someone she liked more every moment she spent around him. He made her feel good. It wasn't fair. It wasn't freaking fair for her to cut herself off from everyone even as she considered leaving the agency.

It wasn't enough that she was already cutting herself off from her own mother to keep her safe?

She turned her face into the pillow that…hadn't been there when she had first curled up on his couch, and she realized Chuck must have found her asleep and carefully slipped a pillow under her head.

No.

Fuck her nightmare.

Fuck her brain's subliminal messaging trying to force her to walk away from this man, this friendship and…whatever else it was, whatever else it could be. She wasn't going to do this to herself. Not this time.

She was finally trying to take a step, a small step though it was, and actually enjoy her life.

There was no sniper in the building across the street. There was no one waiting outside for her.

"This is fucking Christmas. Enjoy it," she whispered to herself through clenched teeth. She wasn't letting this happen today, damn it.

Slowly sitting up from the momentary sanctuary the couch provided while she gave herself a silent pep talk, she stretched and checked her watch. God, how had that happened in just ten minutes? She'd really just spread out on his couch ten minutes ago. Yawning, she tried to force that nightmare out of her mind once and for all, not wanting it to poison her brain against this…this whatever it was. They were "dating"…

The CIA agent stood up and pushed a hand through her hair to try to smooth it down before hobbling around the couch and making her way to his kitchen where he'd ended up after shutting his door.

There were two mugs on his counter with steam rising up from inside of them. And a bag of mini marshmallows sitting beside them. She could guess what was going on there and she felt her insides warm just thinking of how much she suddenly found she could go for a good cup of hot cocoa.

He must've heard her come in because he turned to look at her and frowned a little. "Aw, man. You fell asleep and I was gonna leave you and let you take a nap while I made this, but that stupid asshole Jerald from down the hall had to practically kick my damn door down to ask if my power's out. He's always such a dick, I swear."

So that was the weird knocking thing that happened in her nightmare, then. And it had woken her up, too.

"Oh. No, no. Don't worry. If I'd kept sleeping, I wouldn't get this hot cocoa, would I?" She beamed, gesturing to a mug.

Chuck grabbed one and handed it to her, before dropping a few marshmallows onto the top with a "Voila!" And then he shrugged, grabbing his own. "I could've just warmed it back up with my handy-dandy microwave when you woke up."

"I'm sorry I fell asleep," she said, wincing. "I guess I shouldn't have stayed up so late last night."

"Uh yeah, you texted me at almost three in the morning. What're you doing up that late anyway?"

She frowned a little, then cleared her throat and sipped her hot cocoa. "Just…work stuff. Mmm this is really good." And so was the last minute report she'd had to finish and send thanks to Bernie, one of the analysts, jacking up the one task he'd been given. No wonder some of them needed babysitting.

She pushed it out of her mind, then reached over to squeeze his bicep. "Thank you. This is hitting the right spot."

"That's what she said!"

Sarah jumped at the way he blurted it in a rush. And then she furrowed her brow at him. "Who's she? What?"

His amused grin faltered and then he gave her a blank look, blinking once. "That's…what she said. You know…"

"No, I don't know who we're talking about." She was completely confused.

He leaned in, looking just as confused as she felt, and then his eyebrows raised up practically past his hairline. "Wait… that's what she said. You don't know 'that's what she said'? Seriously? Are you messing with me again?"

She shrugged. "No. Are you messing with me?"

"No, I did a…Wow. Sorry. Sorry, you really don't—ahem. I must sound like a crazy person." He shook his head and chuckled good-naturedly. "It's a joke. It's a whole thing a lot of people…do. It's a thing. It's like…a sexual innuendo game that folks play all the time, in everyday life." Sarah could only gape at him, even as she felt embarrassed that she didn't know what in the hell he was talking about. A lot of people did it? How many was a lot? God, she was so out of it. "Someone says something that could sound…sexual, and you say, 'That's what she said!' Sometimes it's, um, well, you say it fast before one of your friends does. And you…win, I guess."

"Oh. Win what?" She sipped her hot cocoa.

He frowned. "Um. The game. Nothing. It's just…an…honestly immature thing many of us still do even though we're adults." He gave her a dubious look. "You seriously have never heard of it…"

"I swear." She held up her hand as if she was giving an oath. "I'm not pulling your leg this time." It finally clicked then. "Ooooh! I get it now. It's hitting the right spot, that's what she said. Ha! That's kind of funny! Like you with your finger flicking!" She laughed. "I like this game."

He chuckled and then realized what she said, the chuckle dying on his lips as he frowned. "Finger flick—Okay, that wasn't…I'm not…" He huffed, then rolled his eyes and went back to chuckling. "Well, now you know about it and you can whip it out whenever you—"

"That's what _she _said!" she interrupted, pointing at him with a 'ta daaaa' look.

"Y-You're supposed to wait until the sentence is already… You know what? You can play it however you want. That was actually really quick and pretty fuckin' funny," he said, laughing as he shook his head. "You're a fast learner."

"I get that every so often."

They finally settled on the couch and she pulled her legs up under her, turning to face him, holding her cocoa in both hands and propping it on her thigh.

"What's it like, working two jobs?" she found herself asking. She positioned herself on the couch with her own back facing the window. If a nightmare sniper felt the need to shoot into this apartment, she'd gladly take the hit to keep him safe. "Does it suck as bad as it sounds like it does?"

He let out a one syllable giggle and gave her a thoughtful look. "Some weeks it's the worst. And sometimes I'm okay. I guess it depends. Like, if something shitty happens at the Buy More on Monday, like two of my Nerd Herders decide not to show up for work and it's just me working on dozens of devices all on my own and helping walk-ins, the rest of the week feels like absolute SUCK. Never fails." He sighed. "And sometimes it sort of feels like I don't get any respite. Get off a full Buy More shift and head straight into Casey's Bar, where I stay behind that bar up to my elbows in alcohol until close to three in the morning. This is the first I've been able to just sit and do nothing for an entire day …in a long time." He frowned then. "Wait, the day after I got stood up was a day like this, but it wasn't, um, a particularly pleasant day? I mean, I didn't feel great."

She pouted. "That was my fault."

"Hey, it's okay." He reached over to squeeze her wrist reassuringly.

She smiled gratefully.

"You ever…" She bit her lip. "Feel bitter about it? Like you want to leave it all behind and do something completely different?"

He sighed, then shrugged, taking a sip of his cocoa and pausing as he swallowed. "Sure, yeah. Sometimes. I'm only human. I find myself fantasizing about having one job, and that job provides me with the financial means to live here and be able to pay my bills and have some leftover for fun stuff. Oh! And benefits. That's important. And my car. Also important."

She nodded slowly. "I don't blame you."

Chuck watched her for a bit, and she let him. She let him see…but not too much. Some of it she had to keep hidden. And then he smiled a little and reached over to set his empty mug on the coffee table before he settled back against the couch and peered at her again. He really was handsome, his features kind even when he was upset…but also, his jaw and chin were both strong, his hair thick and soft and his eyes were seriously just beautiful. That amber color intermixed with the brown. And his eyelashes were long.

He spoke, his hand on her arm, and broke her out of a slight spell. "But I've survived in spite of all of this work I have to do. And I've sort of found a way. I think. Maybe it can help you…I dunno." He ducked his head a bit bashfully.

"Help me?" she asked, twisting her arm a bit to break his hold but quickly threading her fingers with his instead.

He stared at their hands for a moment, then lifted his gaze back to her. "Yeah. I figure you're asking me about whether it makes me feel…bitter or not, because…because maybe you feel a little bitter sometimes about your own job?" He winced, seeming to second guess bringing it up suddenly. "I'm sorry. It isn't my business, and I shouldn't make assumptions about how you feel about your own job."

"No, no. No, Chuck, it's okay. Keep…keep going," she said quietly, squeezing his hand.

The bartender licked his lips and nodded, leaning in a bit closer as she quickly set her own mug away from her and got more comfortable, the position naturally getting her closer to him.

"I don't know what your job is to you—if it extends further than just a means of providing for yourself, for the lifestyle you want to live…" She figured his pause wasn't there for her to answer, so she just watched and waited for him to continue. "Or if it's more. If it's—it's become your life." She stared hard, something stirring in her chest. "You talked to me about how you slipped into a routine, how you wake up, go to work, get home and go to sleep, wake up, go to work, rinse and repeat." She nodded minutely. "It kind of sounds like your job, your work, has become…what you are. Who you are. I mean…I don't mean that literally. If you weren't anything more than your job, I wouldn't have liked you so much and so quickly. You're an incredibly interesting person, and I immediately wanted to get to know you better when I first met you." Her heart thudded against her ribcage like a lion in a cage with fresh meat being dangled right outside of its prison. "You're more than just…Sarah who works at…wherever you work. There's more to you than that. And that's something that I have to keep reminding myself about my situation. I guess I built a life outside of my jobs that I can cling to. Something to separate myself from all of that. From the bad customers and immature and inept coworkers, from the bad tippers, and the people who think I'm flirting when I'm definitely not." He huffed and shook his head.

She widened her eyes teasingly. "Uh oh. Was I one of those?"

"Oh, I was definitely flirting with you."

How was she supposed to just sit here and listen to him say marvelous things like that and not just throw all caution to the wind and tackle him?

"But that's-that's not the point," he said, clearing his throat. "The point is that I think…well, if what I just said describes you, if you've lost yourself in the job—not just in a workaholic way, but in a way where you find you've got nothing else outside of it—that's asking for deep unhappiness. You'll end up feeling really…unfulfilled. I think." He winced. "I really hope I'm not being a condescending, patronizing prick saying all of this to you."

"You aren't. At all. You're…giving me a lot to think about." She sighed, smiling reassuringly. "That was…kind of why I brought it up, I guess." She bit her lip, feeling unsure about the whole conversation now, even as she really was taking it all to heart.

"You mind if I, um, if I ask…what you do? Your job?"

And this was it, wasn't it? The moment where she finally told a big lie. She'd been preparing for this since she met him. And she hated it. It sucked so bad.

"I…have a government job."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh! Wow. Man, that must have a great benefits package."

She hadn't expected that response and it made her chuckle. "Yes. It's pretty good."

"Hence why you put up with the job? Just guessing."

"Uh…" Weirdly enough, it wasn't. She was glad the CIA took care of her. She'd needed medical attention enough being a secret agent for the CIA and having good coverage had meant getting good medical care. She was more than just an asset, she was one of their best weapons. They'd better take good care of her. "Probably. But honestly, I'm…very good at my job. It's nice to have a job that I…know what I'm doing. I've been at it for so long that it's…" She huffed. "We've been through this. I just know what to expect."

He nodded. "Good benefits, works you like a dog…it's a government cushy job. That's the dream."

Sarah almost laughed, but she was just able to bite it back.

She didn't expect him to get any other idea from the information she'd given him—or lack thereof—but he was definitely picturing her work day as her sitting behind a desk. There were no guns, no bullets flying at her face, no rooftop fights that nearly ended in her death… He certainly knew nothing of the blood on her hands. Or the fact that her "government job" included cutting herself off from anything real, anything that might last, severing attachments if she was unlucky enough to form them in the first place.

Even as the conversation continued, switching gears to things that were a little more trivial and a lot easier for her to talk about, she felt the heaviness settle in her gut at the lie she'd told. Just a slight lie, but lie enough to weigh her down.

}o{

"How is that even fair?"

"Easy. I got twenty and you got thirteen," she chirped, turning her cards and flashing them at him. "It's your deck; it's not like I can cheat. And you dealt."

"Figures, I dealt myself shit."

"Let that be a lesson to you, bartender."

He cracked up and snatched her cards from her hands, grumbling good-naturedly. "Fine. Fine, I'll pick the post-dinner alcohol. I still think you're the guest and you should pick."

"Yeah, you made that very clear, but then I persuaded you to let us play Twenty-One, loser has to be the decisive one. And I won, you lost. So…be decisive." She leaned in and poked his chest, smirking.

She watched closely as he pressed his lips together, sighed, and narrowed his eyes at her. Then he reached over and moved the various bottles closer to them. They'd gotten takeout delivered a few hours earlier, and after they'd gobbled it up, she picked a Christmas movie from his incredible collection of movies, since he insisted on them watching at least one Christmas movie on Christmas Day. Once Miracle on 34th Street was over, he'd decided drinks were in order, and then they'd argued over who should pick what they'd be drinking.

It was a silly argument and she could've just tossed any old thing out—whiskey on the rocks, gin mule, vodka and soda, rum and coke. But God it was too fun bantering, and way too much fun having him banter back. And the prospect of him going all the way into his bedroom, grabbing his deck of cards, and situating themselves at his table to play a few games of Twenty-One to decide was too good to pass up.

He was so easy to have fun with, so easy to lower her guard, loosen up, and not have to play any characters. She had no ulterior motive being here with him. She wanted nothing from him except to just be around him. And it felt like the sentiment was returned tenfold.

"Oh God, wait! Why am I so dumb? I've got some slightly cheap red wine in my wine cellar," he said, finishing his statement with a highbrow posh English accent. He pushed himself up from the table, leaving the cards scattered between them.

She made a dubious face and got up to follow him. "Wow, yeah. Why drink a really well-mixed highball or martini when you can have…slightly cheap red wine?"

Chuck laughed, popping open one of his cupboards and reaching up to snag two bottles, one-handing them both and shutting the cupboard before setting them on his counter. "No, I was thinking we could mull it. Make a huge batch of mulled wine. Ellie and I have this shop we go to in the Orange County area that has a bunch of incredible spices. She went there last week and brought me back mulling spices."

She could almost feel a phantom warmth settle in her gut at the thought of drinking mulled wine on such a cold night. "Oh my God, you're a genius. I'm so glad you suck at cards!"

Chuck lunged at her with a cartoonish, "Whyyy you—!" and she let him grab her around her waist, wrestling with him at only half effort as she cracked up.

By the time the wine had boiled with the spices and was ready to pour into their mugs, Chuck had found some cinnamon sticks at the back of his spices drawer, and they settled at his table to enjoy with some of her store bought cookies.

"Have you tried this crinkle one yet?" she asked, picking a chocolate crinkle up and taking a bite. "Mmmm. You have to. Here." She reached over to let him take a bite out of it, and he leaned in, daintily doing so to make her giggle, munching happily. "Good?"

His eyelids fluttered. "That's good. That's amazing. You did a really good job picking out cookies."

She smiled, shrugging. "I probably should've baked something. I just…"

"Nah, you weren't obligated to bring anything except yourself. And pajamas. And frankly, I'm a little bit bummed the pajamas never came out," he teased, smirking a bit.

"Why you so eager to see me in my pajamas?"

"Because I imagine they're really cute, with little cartoon kitty cats on 'em or somethin'."

Not expecting that, she laughed hard, shaking her head. "You're the weirdest person I've ever met."

"That's probably true." He chuckled. "Sorry."

She didn't know why… maybe the countless mugs of mulled wine and the long amount of time since she'd stuffed herself with chow mein and fried rice had combined to make her a little bit buzzed. Maybe she was feeling particularly good, safe…comfortable. And maybe she'd spent a whole day exploring the nooks and crannies that existed within this man's person, his quirks, his kindness, the sincerity that flowed through every last fibre of his being. She felt like she'd been drinking him up all day long and she was filled with warmth and soul-deep serenity now.

But there was something else, too.

And that something else was what made her get up from her chair, cross the three or so feet between them, and sit down on his lap. She ignored the almost frightened pop of his brown eyes and cupped his jaw, leaning in to kiss him. The mulled wine had left his lips warm, and the inside of his mouth was even warmer, she discovered as she added her tongue into the mix.

She didn't know how much time she spent sitting on his lap, kissing him, but the heat slowly made its way up from their feet, not stopping until it encased them both, and his hand, warm from the mug he'd been cupping, slipped under her sweatshirt and shirt, stroking up her back, pulling her in even closer.

When they finally broke apart, she pressed her forehead to his and took a deep breath, finally opening her eyes and twisting her wrist just enough to look at her watch. Damn it, it was after midnight. Closer to one, even.

She kept quiet about it for as long as she dared, just basking in the moment, letting him continue to stroke up and down her side, his fingers long and warm and reassuring against her bare skin.

Finally, she bit her lip and just barely resisted making a reluctant whining sound. "It's late."

She watched as Chuck slowly blinked his eyes open. And then he swallowed hard. "Don't go." Her jaw fell open a little. "Please. Stay. Stay with me tonight."

They were both more than aware of his full meaning. He didn't have to clarify.

There was really no other answer she could give him, except…

"You really wanna see those pajamas, huh?"

He laughed, his head falling back, and she grinned for just a moment before she dove in to press her lips to his neck, rounding his shoulders with her arms as he finally got a hold of himself enough to stand up, set her down, and grab her hand. Without pausing for even a moment, he led her down the hallway to his bedroom.

And she followed eagerly.

* * *

**A/N:** EAGERLY. I just need everyone to know that while writing this chapter, I wrote myself into a bit of a corner. Because I was like HA HA HOW FUnNY wOuLd iT bE iF SaRaH DiDnT kNow ThaTs WhAT sHe SAid HA HA. And then it took me like AN HOUR to figure out how I would even explain "That's what she said" to someone who didn't already know about it. I was like okay well if you say it before anyone else you WIN. ...you don't really get anything when you win but you still...win. WE'RE ALL SUCH IDIOTS PEOPLE MUST REALLY THINK WE'RE ALL JUST IDIOTS.

Anyway, I'd love a review, thanks ever so. Hearts and such.

-SC


	11. Chapter 11

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary:** A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**A/N:** Not only did you send me reviews, but birthday wishes too? Wow, okay. That's called doing the most. You're all great. Thanks so much! Enjoy this chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

* * *

It wasn't Christmas anymore.

The bars weren't even open at this hour, the streets empty with the revelers they'd heard and laughed at earlier having gone home to their beds. Or maybe, like her, to someone else's bed.

A small smile grew on her face as she was reminded of that moment a few hours earlier, when she'd been on top of him, the sheets and heavy duvet pulled over their heads. She'd been lost in his touch, ready to dive right back in again, and they'd heard someone shout outside, "GOD BLESS US, EVERYONE!" She'd frozen, feeling Chuck go tense under her, and then he'd let out an exasperated, "Go the hell home, Tiny Tim." She'd lost it, laughing so hard she had to bury her face in his shoulder. It had only killed the mood for a few minutes as they'd laughed together, but it was worth it, and they'd gotten right back to it not too much longer later as if they'd never been interrupted in the first place.

Was that what this was going to be? If so, she'd really stepped into a goldmine that night when she'd spotted the lights of Casey's Bar spilling out over the sidewalk, the welcoming sign above the door, the buzzed couple walking out arm in arm, laughing together. She wondered if she'd remember that moment, that sight, for the rest of her life now.

That moment alone had felt like a catalyst somehow.

And now Chuck had asked her to spend the night with him four hours ago, as she sat in his lap at the table, ready to finally pull herself away, gather her things, and head back to her apartment, the…well, the best day of her life over. It was crazy how little she'd had to think about it. There wasn't any panic. She didn't even wonder if it was the right thing to do; that voice she'd gotten to accustomed to, the same one that told her he deserved better than her, was weirdly silent. And she'd gone for it.

And then he made sure she had absolutely no regrets about that decision.

Not one.

She'd had multiple hours' worth of no regrets.

The time they'd spent wrapped up in one another was punctuated by laughter, blanketed by warmth, and in spite of neither of them confirming it with words, she was absolutely certain they'd both come to the same conclusion: this was a relationship now.

She didn't know what to do with that information. She wasn't sure if she was slowly hanging herself by diving into a relationship with a man who still had no idea that she was a spy in the CIA, that the name he knew her by wasn't the name she'd been born with.

What kind of a relationship was it really if it was started with such a massive lie between them?

But she pushed all of that away for now because she was getting legitimately cold in just her bra and underwear, even with the layers of covers surrounding her, and Chuck's warm body pressed up against hers.

He was fast asleep, his chest against her shoulder, one arm slung over her midsection and tucked under her, hugging her close to him the way she imagined a child would with their stuffed animal. It was a strange thought for her to have but she thought it anyway. He did look extra young when he was sleeping, and even kinder than he was when he was awake. She could still see patterns in his curls from her fingers running through his hair, almost like planted rows on a farm.

She didn't want to move, but she wouldn't be able to sleep if she was this cold. And she already hated how she looked when she first woke up in the morning; it'd be extra bad if she didn't sleep at all.

Very carefully, she lifted his incredibly heavy arm and gently shifted her weight away from him, wincing at how she was immediately colder without his body heat pressed against her side. She needed to put some clothes on, dear God.

As she finally came to stand next to the bed, she desperately glanced around his bedroom for something—anything—she could cover up with so that she could go back out to where she left her bag with her pajamas she'd bought and put those on without turning into an icicle.

Her blue eyes stopped on his closet and she rushed to it, hoping he wouldn't mind as she opened up the door further and scanned the clothes he had hanging there. God, there were more marked boxes of comics stacked in neat piles on the floor next to a few pairs of sneakers that looked the same as the ones she always saw him wear, save in different colors. A pair of hiking boots, and one pair of dress shoes. She smiled to herself, not really sure why his selection of shoes was so endearing to her.

But then she spotted a robe hanging at the very end of the closet and she sighed in relief, taking it from the hanger and shrugging it on, wrapping it around herself and snuggling into it. It was the first time she realized Chuck had a certain scent she'd attributed to him without knowing she'd been doing it. It was a clean, comforting, homey smell. Maybe it was the laundry soap he used. She didn't know, but she liked it, and she snuggled even deeper into the robe, hugging herself tight.

Turning back to look at him one more time, she finally snuck out of his bedroom, down the hallway, and into his living room. They'd left the lights on, as distracted as they'd been. And because he hadn't seemed to mind it, she'd decided not to either.

The remnants of their Christmas were still there, mugs on the counter, mugs on the coffee table by the couch, the blanket they'd shared while watching Miracle on 34th Street tossed haphazardly over the arm of the couch, half of it flopping over onto the ground, his shoes and her boots next to the door from when they'd gone to the park.

She wandered over to her bag and fished through it for her pajamas. She held them up in front of her and hummed in amusement, shaking her head. If only the Agent Walker who'd bought these knew where she'd be forty-eight hours later…

Shaking her head, she untied the robe and pulled the thick cotton pants on, tying the drawstring and quickly shrugging out of the robe to put the matching long sleeve top on, buttoning it as fast as possible before wrapping herself up in the robe again.

Sarah giggled at herself quietly, looking down at the outfit, the reality of everything seeming to hit her all at once.

For the first time since she could remember, she'd actually celebrated Christmas, and not just by herself but with someone else. She'd seen the Christmas episodes of certain TV shows, the giant turkey at the center of the table, families sitting around it while wearing their ugly sweaters or whatever, the tree glimmering in the corner, a dog begging for turkey scraps at the kids' feet. She'd seen presents unwrapped, and other traditional scenes in front of a fireplace.

But the last twenty-four hours had included none of that. It had been the most spur of the moment, off the cuff, and honestly strangest Christmas ever. It had been something she never could've imagined in her wildest dreams. Twilight Zone, muffins, watching ducks waddle around a pond at the park, one obligatory Christmas movie, Chinese takeout delivery, cards, a ten minute nap, hot cocoa, mulled wine, wearing the comfiest clothes she owned throughout all of it, and finally...sex. Really, really good sex.

She bit her lip between her teeth and grinned, feeling an unending warmth settle in her chest as she hugged the robe around her and just looked at his place.

She imagined there were a lot of people out there who'd balk at the way she and Chuck had celebrated Christmas. It was kind of a mess in the way a lot of it was just one of them asking the other "What do ya wanna do next?" and making impulsive decisions. It was a beautiful mess that felt as normal as it felt...not normal. She felt like she'd just experienced something so inherently real and human, and as a result, she actually felt like a real human.

This was what her mom had meant.

This was exactly what she'd meant, perhaps without knowing the minute details contained within it.

Could she survive in the real world, outside of the spy life, if this was what it would be? God yes. She'd force herself to. But she wasn't so naive as to assume a normal life away from the CIA would always be this good. There would be trials and tribulations, missteps, errors, disappointments along with the joys.

But she wanted all of that.

She wanted the mess.

She wanted weird Christmases that were nothing like what she'd always imagined in her head. She wanted laser tag. She wanted to watch her boyfriend—God, her boyfriend—be a creature of habit and buy the same muffin and order the same coffee every single time he walked into that bakery on the corner of his block. She wanted to tease him about it.

She wanted Twilight Zone and mulled wine and whooping ass at card games. That was so much better than dodging bullets, knife fights, and fist fights. It was better than not being able to sleep after she'd eliminated someone off the face of the Earth, wondering if that person had really done everything her orders said they'd done, wondering if the pile of dossiers were all filled with facts and not fabrications.

She was tired of simply surviving to see the next day. She wanted to wake up excited about the prospect of facing another day, knowing she wouldn't be in danger of being stalked and/or murdered if she let her guard down.

And perhaps this wasn't yet the biggest thing she wanted, but it was very far up there…

She wanted Chuck Bartowski the bartender. She wanted Chuck Bartowski the supervisor of the Nerd Herd at the Burbank Buy More. She wanted more of the night they'd just shared together. She wanted to get lost in those sensations without fearing for her life. She didn't want to fear letting someone in, letting him know how she felt.

Taking a deep breath, wearing pajamas she'd bought the other day so she could fit in with Chuck's Christmas rules and regulations, and wearing Chuck's own robe on top of it, looking at the semi-mess they'd made and would have to clean up when they woke in a few hours...she was sure of her decision.

Not sure enough yet to grab her phone and make the call…

But sure enough that she was smiling as she shut off all the lights in the room and headed back down the hallway to the bedroom. She quietly tiptoed back into the bedroom but froze when he shifted in the bed and pushed himself up to lean on his elbows, squinting up at her. They never had turned off that bedside lamp in their frenzy to get into bed.

He hadn't seemed to mind...and so she hadn't minded either.

His eyes opened a little wider, in spite of still looking sleepy and bedraggled, as his gaze wandered down to her toes and back up to her face again. "Is...that...my robe?"

"Yeah." She shrugged. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

He brushed that off with a shake of his head. "You okay?"

Smiling at just how okay she was, more okay than she could currently express, at least not out loud, knowing it was more than he was ready to hear, she nodded a little, then came further into the room. "I'm okay. I was...cold. I'm sorry I kind of snooped in your closet but I didn't wanna go out there to get these pajamas in just my bra and underwear."

"I don't want you getting hypothermia," he said with a soft chuckle. And then he pushed himself to sit up, his bare chest on full display, his shoulders and arms, and those hipbones of his that she'd now traced with her lips… She swallowed hard and shook that thought out of her head as best she could. "And I don't mind you...wearing...whatever." He bit his lip. "I mean, anything you find, just toss it on. I'm...completely okay with it."

"I'm getting the feeling you sort of...like it even. Am I mistaken?" She tilted her head and walked a bit closer, playing with the sash on the robe teasingly.

"You...are not mistaken." And then he peered up at her as she stopped at his bedside. "We-We haven't exactly cleared things up with words. I mean, things with us. This. Have we?"

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek a bit shyly. "I'm, um, I'm not good with...words."

"You only have to say one word, then." She furrowed her brow in question as he swallowed, looking slightly unsure. "Is this a relationship? A real relationship? An exclusive relationship? Is that what just happened here? Today? Er...to-tonight?" He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. "Last night?"

She got his meaning loud and clear. And as strange as she felt saying it, he was right that it was really only one word.

"Yes."

His face lit up, and as cheesy as she knew it sounded, she wondered if it wasn't even better than a gleaming Christmas tree in the corner of the room. No, she didn't wonder. She knew it was better.

Sarah reached over to turn the lamp off with a click, and his hands were on her immediately. She found herself pinned underneath him just a few moments later, his robe tossed to the end of the bed, his fingers unbuttoning her shirt, and she giggled breathlessly.

"Seriously? I just went through all of that to get these from my bag and put them on, and now you're just going to take it all off again?"

Chuck laughed and nodded. "Yep! Although…" His fingers stilled and her smiled dimmed a bit, brimming with curiosity. "I don't necessarily need to take it _all_ off, do I?"

She had every intention of asking him what he meant, but he showed her before she could. And he disappeared under the covers, his fingers pulling slowly at the drawstring at the front of her pajama pants, his fingers tucking inside and easing them down and out of his way.

She let out a whimper and turned her face into the pillow, her eyes crossing before she shut them altogether.

}o{

Chuck subtly watched the interaction between his boss and coworker, the grumpiness on the one side, and the frostiness on the other.

"Well, whatever. You can argue if you want, but when you and Bartowski finish up here, I want you coming home. That's it. While you're under my roof, I make the rules. Or you can get your own place…" John shrugged as he walked backwards towards the door, his keys in hand.

He turned to Chuck then who went back to mopping the floor as if he hadn't witnessed John's parenting tactics. Or the way Alex had clenched her jaw and walked straight into the back of the bar, the door swinging on its hinges aggressively as she disappeared behind it.

"Hey. Make sure she gets into her car safe and goes in the general direction of my house or I'll fire you."

Chuck knew it was somewhat of a joke, that John was pulling his leg, teasing him as some sort of defense mechanism because he most likely knew his employee had just seen him reprimand his twenty-two year old daughter like she was sixteen still. So he smirked. "Yessir."

"Good." He paused then before he unlocked the front door to leave, turning back. "Hey. By the way… How, uh, how'd that Malbec go?"

Raising his eyebrows, Chuck tilted his head and pouted a bit. "Aww, John! You do care!"

"Shut up," John snarled, rolling his eyes. But he apparently still wanted an answer as he stood there waiting, his lip curled.

"It went...really, really well. Like, we spent Christmas together and she didn't leave until almost ten last night well."

He couldn't help the smug grin. He felt really, really good about how long she'd stayed, how fantastic the forty-ish hours he'd spent with her had been. And he felt extra good about the text he'd gotten during his last ten minute break asking if he had plans after closing up the bar.

John raised his eyebrows. "All that from a Malbec?"

"Uh, I had something to do with it, too."

"Right. Sure. Damn powerful Malbec." John snickered and left then, the door slamming shut, followed by the loud click of it locking behind him.

Alex burst out of the back then. "Hold on! You didn't tell me this!" she exclaimed, a wet rag in her hand, her eyes wide, her tone accusatory.

Chuck shrugged. "I'm supposed to tell everyone in this joint that I've got a girlfriend?"

"YOU DO?!"

"Aaaand this is why I didn't say anything."

"WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN? Was it because I forced you to ask her out? That's why, isn't it? I got you a girlfriend. You owe me big time." She shrugged, a smug look on her face.

"Jesus Christ. You and your dad both! I got me a girlfriend. Me. I did it. It wasn't a bottle of wine and it wasn't you telling me to ask her out. I did it." He chuckled and shook his head. "Megalomania runs in the Casey family."

"I don't have shit in common with him except that we both love my mom." She shook her head then, as if dismissing that potential change of subject. "Wait, wait. So it is the blonde. Sarah." He nodded and she clamped her teeth down with her lips trapped between, making a short squeaking sound. "Oh my God. I'm proud of you. You have a girlfriend. How'd it happen. She ask you out?"

He gave her a flat look and earned a snicker that was a lot like her dad's, in spite of her insistence she was nothing like the boss.

"No, I asked her to spend Christmas with me since Ellie's out of town with Captain Awesome until Monday night and Morgan's in Mexico until February." Alex looked like she'd swallowed her tongue. "What's that face for?"

"I told you to ask her out, not to ask her to spend Christmas with you. Damn! You go hard, Chuck, huh?" She nudged him, then began to wipe the countertops.

"I wasn't—I don't 'go hard', you dork." She glared, amusement still on her face. "I just asked her if she wanted to spend the day together since we both would've spent it alone otherwise. And she said yes, so…" He shrugged.

"That's the cutest shit I've heard in a long time. So what'd you do, charm her with your Ninja Turtle action figures? Oh, wait! It was your video game collection."

"See, now you're being a fuggin' brat."

She cracked up and tossed the rag in the sink. "I'm just kiiiddinnnng! You're a very charming guy, Chuckles, like I told you. So she spent the night, huh? I'm assuming that means you—"

"Don't. Your my boss's daughter on top of being my friend, but mostly your my boss's daughter, and I am not having that conversation with you." He gave her a warning look, then swept past her to roll the mop and bucket to the back again.

"Okay, first of all, we don't have to have the conversation. Just say yes or no. Did you sleep with her?" She smacked his arm, having followed him. "And second, he might be your boss, but he isn't mine and he doesn't get to tell me what the hell to do. I'm your friend, you can talk to me about whatever."

Chuck turned on his heel as they got into the back, narrowing his eyes at her. "What's up with you two anyway?"

"You can't change the subject like that without answering my question."

"If I answer yours, will you answer mine?"

"Ugh, fine!" She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, we slept together. Easily the best night of my entire life. What's going on with you and your dad?"

Alex did a fist pump then gave him the hardest high five he'd ever felt. His hand was going to sting for a while, especially since it was cold. Damn it. "YES, CHUCK! It's about time you got some ass."

"Hey, hey, calm it down there, okay? She's more than just...ass."

"I know, you freaking goof. It's just an expression. So what's it gonna be now? You gonna start visiting her at work this time? Bringing her lunch? Awwww. You should do that." She hugged herself and grinned.

"I don't know where she works. I don't really know...what she does... exactly."

"She's your girlfriend…"

"Yeah, she is. But that doesn't mean I know everything there is to know about her. This is super new."

"Chuck, obviously you don't know everything, but to not even know where she works?"

He shrugged. "I'll find out eventually."

But Alex's words were niggling at him. He really didn't know where she worked and that did seem sort of...odd. She worked "for the government" which could mean literally anything. Was she in some senator's office? The post office? Did she have some accountant type job at city hall? Was she a janitor at city hall? Did she work at the DMV?

"You still didn't answer my question," he said again, interrupting her concerned questioning.

Rolling her eyes again, she shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal. I'm seeing this guy Ben and it's complicated. My dad met him by accident scoping out one of the clubs on the other side of town and when he found out he was dating me, he lost his shit. I guess Ben was messy drunk, recognized him, and told him we were dating." She huffed. "I'm pissed at him about it. He gets really stupid when he's drunk and that's why it's...off and on so much."

Chuck winced, not sure he really liked the sound of it either, and Alex immediately got defensive.

"Look, he's my dad but you're not, so—"

"I'm not!" He held up his hands. "I'm not your dad and I'm not telling you what to do. Why all the tension here? Did you two have a blow up?"

"Yeah. He found out I spent the night at Ben's a few weeks ago and now he's acting like a fucking dictator, telling me what to do with my own life. I'm an adult. I'm twenty-two. I can sleep where I want and with whoever the hell I want."

Chuck nodded. "You're right. You can."

"Anyway, I'm not even really seeing Ben right now. He put some stupid stuff on his Instagram and I'm not sure I want to be around him when he's like that. Men are so dumb." She flicked her gaze to him then. "Sorry. You're okay, I guess."

"You guess?" He cracked up. "Oh, thanks." Her smile was muted. So he reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "Listen, patch things up with your dad." She shot him a critical look and he shrugged. "You might not wanna hear that right now, but there's a way for you to patch things up with him and also demand more respect and trust from him all at the same time."

She gave him a droll look. "You saw how he just treated me. He wants my house to be a prison!"

"That's what I mean! Tell him you deserve more respect, that you've earned his trust ten times over." Chuck made a face. "I feel like I sound a lot like Ellie right now…"

"You could do a helluva lot worse," she drawled, and then she crossed her arms and huffed. "You're right, though. And I don't wanna be in a fight with him. But he turned into an absolute monster when I got back the next morning and told him I was with Ben all night. He got downright mean."

"You're an adult. Show him you're an adult by handling this with maturity." A look came over her face. "Not that you're not already doing that! I don't know!" He held his hands up. "I'm gonna stop now though so you don't kick my ass."

She laughed and pushed at his shoulder. "Let's get outta here. I'm tired and if this takes much longer and I'm home too late, John Casey might literally have bars installed on all the exits from his daughter's bedroom, including the window."

Chuck snorted. "Yeah, let me just get the money into the safe. And then we can go. I've got places to be." He didn't even notice the smile that came over his face.

But Alex did.

"Ooooooooooo are you seeing Sarah?" She glanced at her watch and smirked. "And at this hour? Booooty caaaaaaaaaaaall—ack! Hey!"

Chuck got her right in the face with the cloth he threw at her. And he grinned cheekily, thumping the stack of money he took from the register against the desk and heading for the safe.

}o{

She eventually pried her fingers from her bed's wooden headboard, wiggling them to get the feeling back into them, and then she twisted them in his soft curls at the back of his head instead.

The intense sensations that had been coursing through her body were slowly starting to ebb enough that she felt his large hands against the sensitive skin of her waist and the small of her back first, and then his hot breath puffing against her shoulder as he buried his face there.

Sarah let out a squeak as he swung his weight to the side with no warning, gently guiding her off of his lap and draping her onto the mattress beside him.

As she shifted onto her side, her limbs relaxed and loose in a way they hadn't been since…well, Christmas, she watched him with a supremely satisfied smile on her face as he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, letting out a muffled groan that really did so much to properly express just how good that had been.

She wondered if humankind ever learned to fly the way birds did...would it feel like this? No, probably not. She was just out of her mind because she'd just had the best sex of her life. And that, she was absolutely positive, was completely and utterly normal.

Even while every last fibre of her being, every nerve in her body, was screaming that what just happened was not normal, and was instead exceptional, extraordinary.

Turning onto her back, she let out a long breath, covering her eyes with her hands and just letting her whole body go limp.

She could feel her toenails. They were buzzing. Were they supposed to buzz? Did toenails buzz?

The air in her bedroom was cold, she realized, as her nerves settled a bit and figured out it was freezing, goosebumps rising on her skin. But before she could do anything to remedy the situation, Chuck reached down and wordlessly untangled the covers from his feet. She watched him struggle a bit, yanking at the covers with a disgruntled look on his face, and she laughed breathlessly.

But then he finally freed them, chuckling at his own misfortune, and pulled it all up the bed to cover both of them up.

"Thank you," she drawled, her voice coming out in a scratchy, deep, satisfied grumble.

"Oh, no, no. No, thank you."

All she could do was laugh at that, pushing her hair back from her face. She'd made it look so good before he'd shown up at her apartment door at almost three in the morning, and now it was wild.

Oh well, she thought to herself with a smirk.

"Theeeere it is." She furrowed her brow in confusion and sent him a questioning look at that. He just smiled, shifting onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her. "That self-satisfied smirk." She glared a little. "No, I'm not making fun of you or judging! I'm glad to see it. You should be smug right now. You should be very smug."

"Shut up." She giggled and shoved at his shoulder, turning her face away with a blush.

"What?" he chuckled. "I mean it. An addendum to what I said a few weeks ago about being nicer to yourself? When you do a good job, allow yourself some pride."

Sarah laughed and shook her head at him. "Okay, enough."

"I went too far with it?"

"Maybe." But she beamed up at him anyway. And then she reached up and grabbed him by his shoulders, pulling him down against her. "Get down here, you're letting all the cold air under here with us."

"Oh, sorry," he laughed, slinging his arm over her torso and burying his face under her jaw, his lips brushing against her neck.

Her hand fell to his hair and she began to unconsciously play with his curls between her fingers.

"That's really why you asked me to come over here at three in the morning, isn't it? I'm just a six foot four bed warmer to you, aren't I?"

She snorted, shaking her head.

And then she realized how asking him to come to her apartment after his shift might have seemed to him, or to anyone else who might've received an invitation like that. He was teasing about just being a bed warmer, she knew, but inviting him to come see her at this hour could very well be taken as a booty call and nothing else.

Strangely enough, she'd just wanted to see him. She hadn't seen him since she left his place the day after Christmas. And while she'd been busy trying to figure out her next steps, wanting to get to a place where she could start the process of looking for other job opportunities, plotting her post-CIA life so that she'd be ready when it came to that, she'd thought about him too. And she'd thought about what it meant to have a boyfriend. It was such a settled thing, having a boyfriend. She'd need an apartment. Hopefully she could find a job after the CIA that would allow her to stay in this one. She'd grown fond of it. And she'd grown fond of her bed—really fond of it—in just the last hour or so.

But that hadn't been why she'd texted him while he was still working earlier on in the night. She hadn't meant for the sex to happen.

It just happened.

She'd opened her door for him, invited him in, and she'd barely shut the door before her intention to ask if he'd like anything to drink or eat faded in lieu of a hunger she hadn't realized was even there until it pushed her towards him.

Of course it wasn't just her.

He'd moved for her just as eagerly as she had for him.

They'd barely made it to the bedroom before there wasn't a single article of clothing left, they fell onto the bed, and that was that. God, was it ever that…

Sarah bit her lip and shut her eyes tightly.

She was relatively sure he didn't think she'd just invited him because she wanted to have sex...sure enough that she kept her mouth shut now and just basked in the comfortable silence.

Chuck's arm moved just slightly against her, and then she felt his hand close over hers. She threaded her fingers with his and smiled, turning her face into his hair. It was such a small thing, and it felt more intimate than she'd been prepared for. She didn't quite get why.

"Man, I'm so glad I don't have a curfew anymore," he said, his voice a little muffled with the way his lips were pressed up against her neck.

She smirked, pulling her face back a bit so she could meet his gaze and narrowing her eyes. "Do bartenders have curfews?"

"Alex does right now. Apparently."

She tilted her head in question, but then it clicked a little in her head. Alex had seemed to almost clench her jaw with genuine anger at her father that night in the bar. She'd been curious about why. A girl in her early twenties having a curfew even while she tended a bar for her job? It felt...a little ridiculous.

"Alex from your bar?" she asked. He nodded. "Wait, she's bartending so she's at least twenty-one…" She let her voice trail off, tilting her head.

"She's twenty-two and yeah, exactly. John found out she spent the night at a guy's house and he's going full prison guard on the poor kid." He winced.

"No wonder things seemed so tense between them that night. Yikes…"

"Yikes indeed."

"Sounds like a fun environment for you to be in."

"Mmmmhm, not awkward at all," he said, pressing his lips together and widening his eyes. She giggled. "I feel bad for her. But I also…" He sighed, lifting his gaze to stare at her window, the blinds open just enough for the moonlight to sneak inside of her dimly lit bedroom.

"What?" she prompted nudging him with her hips.

"I dunno, it's gonna sound patronizing."

"No, tell me. It's okay. I won't judge."

He gave her a bit of a sideways look, then sighed again. "I also kinda think about back when I was her age...all of four years ago." He laughed. "I make it sound like I'm like decades older than she is." Sarah snorted, quietly doing the math and realizing they were the same age. "But I didn't...have that. I mean, I didn't...have a dad who was there...you know, getting pissed because I stayed the night somewhere else." He shrugged. "I mean, of course I had Ellie and she did give me a curfew when I was a teenager, but not really? I, uh, wasn't really the type who'd stay out late partying. I'd more get in trouble when she saw I was still awake playing video games at, like, two in the morning on a school night. Oops."

He winced and she laughed, turning her face into his arm and nuzzling him with her nose. "Wow, Chuck…"

He grinned and shrugged. "Yeah, I know." She sobered up soon after and he continued. "Ellie cared about my well-being, but it's...different, I guess. I'm sure if my dad were still around and he knew I'd gone and spent the night with some woman without telling him, he'd be miffed. But he wasn't around. And hasn't been for a while. And I guess part of me sort of wants to tell Alex… I dunno." He huffed.

"To be grateful she even has a dad?"

Chuck could obviously hear how it sounded because he cringed. "Yeah. As awful as it sounds. I mean, I know it's all relative. John's being a tyrant and she's right that she's an adult. But he's also right she lives in his house. But then he is seriously overreacting. Like, yeah I'm not sure about this guy either, but it isn't my business. She's old enough to decide for herself. I dunno, the fact is she does have her dad and her dad is being kind of an ass."

Sarah squeezed his hand and nodded. "I completely get that. You want to say be grateful for what you have, but that doesn't sound...great."

And then she spoke, not even realizing how hard her walls had fallen away from her for just this moment. "If my dad had been around when I was that age, he'd probably pretend to be pissed because he'd seen on a movie somewhere that that's how a dad is supposed to act when he finds out that his daughter's slept with someone."

She didn't realize how much she'd opened up until the silence settled. She tried to play it off, pulling the mask on over her face, looking away as he watched her. She wondered if he could see her pulling away, if he noticed.

Either way, she'd said it, and now he was letting it percolate. He was observant and smart, but he was tactful. He could figure out the meaning of what she'd said easy enough, she thought.

"I'm sorry."

She looked up at him for a long moment, and then she smiled a little, moving her hand to his chest. "It's okay. You know as well as I do; you get used to the idea of them not being there."

"Mmm. Yep. Survival, a coping mechanism. Whatever you wanna call it. But yeah, you get used to it." His hand moved a bit in hers and he squeezed. "He still around, your dad? I mean...um…"

"Is he alive?" she asked, seeing that he was avoiding asking outright and deciding to just do it for him. Chuck nodded once. "Yeah, he is. Far as I know. Wherever he is. That's something I do not know, his whereabouts. What, um, what about yours?"

Chuck shrugged and raised his eyebrows. "No clue. I assume so. Our family home is still sitting on the same street where we left it. It's under my dad's name, he bought it and paid off the mortgage. Neither of us wanted to stay there though so we bounced as soon as Ellie could afford an apartment closer to med school. It's still there, untouched for a few years, and I feel like something would happen to it if he was dead. Right? I don't know."

That was almost a little bizarre, she thought to herself. To have a dad who just skipped out but kept his house that he'd abandoned, and to not ask more questions about it? She wondered if they'd both decided to just leave it behind and push it out of their heads, move on with their lives.

But she didn't ask. She just nodded and rubbed his chest comfortingly.

"It's really nuts the way we somehow found each other in the hustle and bustle of life, especially LA life," he said, leaning down so that his face was closer to hers. "Two people with...our sort of similar stories." He shrugged, and she smiled a bit, aware of just how little of her story he knew. That was by her own design. "You think it was kismet? You believe in that kind of thing?"

"No. Not usually. But I might be wrong," she said with a shrug as he laughed. She was probably a little blunt with that. Oops. "Either way, I'm glad. This is going to be…" She was taking calculated risk here. "Um, sort of a transition period for me. Not that you've signed up for this, and I'm not requiring anything from you, I'm really not, but...it is...nice to know I won't be...alone for it."

He seemed to almost melt into her, and his lips lowered to hers, kissing her almost tenderly as he pulled his hand from hers and slid it over her hip, stroking her skin there. When he pulled back, he was smiling a little, warmth emanating from him.

"You're not alone anymore, not for anything. Not that I'm about to get a hero complex or anything. Never fear, Chuck is here!" He did a bit of a hero pose, as best he could in this position. She giggled at him and shook her head. "I just mean that you've got someone else now. It kind of comes with the package now that this is a whole relationship."

"Instead of a half relationship?" she teased.

"Stop it." He gave her a look, amusement underneath it.

She giggled. "No, seriously. Thank you, Chuck. I don't really know where I go from here. But I'm glad I'm not alone for it."

He was silent for a few minutes, pillowing his head on her shoulder, and she thought he'd maybe fallen asleep when she felt his fingers brush against her distractedly. He wasn't asleep; he'd just been thinking hard. Which meant…

"Sarah…"

"Hm?"

She heard the tentativeness in his voice and it made her a little tense.

"You keep talking about being in transition, and saying things are a mess. And you said...Well, you said to me before that the timing was sort of bad, us meeting like this, because your life is sort of...up in the air." She nodded slowly. "Is it your job? Is it this apartment? Something else? What's…?" He huffed and pushed himself up to lean over her, his brow furrowed. "I wanna help you. If I can. But I-I feel like I really can't do much because I guess I don't really know what you're going through right now. I just know...the sort of...vague things you've said, most of which you said when you were a little drunk that first night."

Sarah frowned, her eyes flicking to the side. "I wasn't...drunk. I was buzzed."

"Okay, sorry. I stand corrected. You were buzzed."

She felt silly for that being the thing she focused in on out of everything else that he'd said. She could feel how much he cared. She could see it in his face, hear it in his voice. And it meant more to her than she was altogether comfortable with.

But she was scared too. And that was the truth.

"Chuck, I…" What did she say? She couldn't say the truth. "I'm not...happy where I am. Or with what I'm doing." Maybe she could stick to what she'd been doing...tell him as much of the truth as she could while keeping him safe, while keeping herself safe too. "I don't think I was ever particularly happy with the way things were, but my past is...um, it isn't...like other people's pasts. And I guess it just made me feel okay with...not being okay. Does that make sense?" He nodded quietly and she was glad he couldn't see her face because she knew there was agony there. Not about her life—she'd come to terms with that. But about the fact that she was really saying all of this out loud to somebody. It was not easy at all. "And I guess I've been starting to think I don't have to be okay with it anymore. I don't...want to just go through the motions. Work, sleep, work, sleep… Not really sure I'm doing right by myself or...by other people." Not sure if she was being sent on personal vendetta errands or if the work she did was actually to keep Americans safe.

"So you wanna change that… Is that what you're saying?" he asked, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows, bracing them on either side of her.

She huffed and gently moved him out of the way so that she could sit up in bed and she clutched the covers to her chest, more for warmth than modesty. She thought better sitting up. Maybe. She didn't know.

"I guess that's it, yeah. I need to figure out how. It might take...time. I won't survive if I just...snap my fingers and drop it all at once. I don't do well with...big change. Which is crazy, considering how often I've gone all over the world, never really settling down."

"Your, uh, your government work," he emphasized. She got the hint. He had no clue what in the hell 'government work' meant. And he wanted to know.

He couldn't know.

So she just mumbled, "Yeah. That."

Chuck pursed his lips and nodded, scooting to sit next to her, shoulder to shoulder. "Change is scary. Why do you think I live like this? Two technically part-time jobs so that I can get benefits and afford to live on my own with no roommate. I'm okay, really I am. But sometimes I wonder if I couldn't be...better than okay."

"Exactly." She huffed. "I think I'm getting to a point where I feel like I...deserve better than NOT okay. But I have to ease into this...new stage. Or I'll fail. I know I will."

She could see herself crashing and burning if she went to Graham's office, quit, and came back to try to figure out what was next. The job, the apartment, the lifestyle, living a normal existence...it would all come at her at once and she'd be overwhelmed and she'd fuck it up. She just knew it.

"Well, uh… I say you take it as slow as you need to. What's the rush?"

Smiling a little, she tilted to the side and leaned her head on his shoulder. His arm curled around her and pulled her close. She felt his lips against her hair and she sighed. "Thank you for letting me get that out." He was silent for a while and she continued haltingly. "I know I'm not exactly...good at...opening up. But I'm...trying. I really am."

He kissed her head again.

"I know you are. And hey, this is new. We'll take it slow if you need that."

She lifted her head and sent him a bit of a saucy look. "Is that what this is? Taking it slow?"

He blushed. "Okay, well...maybe not slow in the physical...department."

"Because if you want to go slow, I can't exactly take back everything I just did to you, but moving forward we can—"

"Nope, that's okay!" he blurted, and they laughed together. "Honestly, Sarah," he said, still smiling even as the laughter subsided. He slipped his hand into hers and looked her right in her eyes. "I know we're only a couple days in on this us-being-together thing, but so far, it feels really good. And I just have this...I dunno, gut feeling, that it's only gonna get better. There's, um, there's a whole lot you haven't really told me...about yourself." She blanched and he squeezed her hand, his other hand raising placatingly between them. "And I'm not upset about it. We literally just met a few weeks ago and...and we started dating a few days ago. You said it's hard for you; I completely get that. I'm...totally the opposite of that. I know." He gave her a self-deprecating, crooked smile. "But I don't...expect you to be like me. Okay?"

She pressed her lips together and nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

"You're welcome. You can...open up whenever and however you're comfortable. I'm just here...a totally open, non-judgmental set of ears...when you need me."

Sarah realized in that moment that she did need him. It crashed over her like a tidal wave, suddenly and almost a little violently. She hadn't even known him a whole month yet. She just knew she trusted him. How much did she trust him?

More than she'd ever trusted anyone.

Literally anyone.

"I won't...always be like this. At least I don't think so. I'm learning. I want to be...different."

"Okay, well don't be too different," he said, reaching up to brush a bit of hair from her forehead. "I'm just getting to know you and I really, really, really like the woman I've gotten to know so far."

"I won't," she giggled. She slipped her hand up his arm, shoulder and to the back of his neck, rubbing him there and pulling him in for a slow, long kiss. She felt an ache inside of her, the buzzing starting again, and she smirked a bit against his lips.

"Mm'what?" he muttered into her mouth.

Pulling back just enough for their noses to still be touching, she bit her lip, meeting his eyes. "I was just thinking about this whole going slow but not in the physical department thing…"

"Were you?" he teased.

"Mmmhm. It occurred to me, Chuck… I'm the one who keeps making the moves that end up with us like this…"

He raised his eyebrows and pulled his chin back a bit. "Oh, really?" Then the teasing dropped from his features and he looked sincerely perplexed. "Wait. Wait, really? Have I not…?"

Sarah pursed her lips and shook her head. "If you wanna go slow, Chuck, I totally understand—"

"Stop that. You know I don't." He smirked a bit.

"Well, then do something about it, nerd."

His eyes widened for a moment and he tilted his head. Then an unmistakable look came over his face, one that made her blood boil in the best way. Just like that, his hand clamped down on her thigh under the sheet and he gave her a quick yank, making her yelp and giggle as she end up flat on her back, landing in the pillows.

Chuck didn't seem to waste any time making his move, and things progressed quickly from there.

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**A/N: **Only one chapter left! I'd love it if y'all would review and let me know what you think. Thanks so much for reading!

-SC


	12. Chapter 12

**The Agent Versus the Bartender**

**By Steampunk . Chuckster**

**Summary:** A chance encounter and disillusionment force CIA Agent Sarah Walker to make a decision that may alter the course of her life, but first she has to decide if she's earned it. AU Charah

**A/N:** Well, this is the end, my friends. Thanks for reading this. I appreciate it. I appreciate your reviews and kindness. Please please do me a favor and check out the other stories I've written, follow along with those. And check out The Detective and the Tech Guy, which I wrote under another penname: thecharleses. This is a thing I'm trying to do now. Trying to promote my work because I seriously do work so so so hard on it and I fret over it and get stuck in my head about it... and I need to acknowledge the hard work I do and feel some amount of personal achievement in it. So there that is. Hope you all enjoy the chapter and enjoyed the story a a whole!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CHUCK or its characters. I'm making $0.00 dollars.

* * *

Meditation.

He was going to pick up meditation.

That was how he would survive the post-Christmas Buy More sales that would last a whole week after the New Year holiday.

He would master meditation. He would get so good at it that he'd be able to meditate and help customers at the same time. Fix a laptop and meditate. Replace the broken screen of an iPhone and meditate.

Jeff and Lester could do backflips off of the Nerd Herd desk and he'd be impervious to it because he'd be in a deep state of eternal peace of mind. Nothing would penetrate it.

All would be well.

"Hey! C'mon, Chuck, I'm talkin' to you! Get it together, Mr. Supervis—Oh. Oh, okay." Lester cleared his throat, backing away nervously as Chuck finally looked up at him and stood from his seat behind the desk, oh so slowly moving towards him, his jaw clenched. "Well, on second thought. On second thought, I think I can probably—I'll just figure it out myself. I'll ask Jeff." Even as he backed away, Lester Patel reached up to brush Chuck's shoulder off for him. "Just...speck of dust there. Got it, though."

"Did you just tell me to get it together?" Chuck asked through a clenched jaw. "I must've been hearing things 'cause I could've sworn you said that to me." He continued to take slow, measured, threatening steps towards Lester until the shorter man backed into a cardboard stand-up and nearly tripped over it.

"Oh, 'scuse me! I—Oh." Lester realized belatedly that it wasn't a real person he'd knocked into. "No, I—You must've heard me say… we're getting together. Yeah. That's-That's what I said. Later. Jeff's van. We-We found a TV in the dumpster outside the Large Mart and we got it to work. S'long as you don't mind there's a crack in the corner of the screen. What?" He looked over his shoulder. "I hear a customer! A customer needs my help! Lemme know if you're up for...Jeff's van and a broken TV later, huh? Okay, ol' pal! Good talk!"

Lester patted him on the shoulder and sprinted away as if his life depended on it.

And honestly, with the mood Chuck was in, his life might actually depend on it.

"Excuse me, sir? I was hoping you could help me."

Chuck blinked, recognizing the voice immediately, and he spun on his heel, the grin already plastered on his face, his mood leagues better than it had been not five seconds earlier.

Sarah stood in the Bluray aisle, nibbling on her lip thoughtfully, holding two boxsets, one in each hand.

"I can absolutely help you, miss." He stepped in closer, practically feasting on the mischievous glimmer in her blue eyes as she watched him.

"Oh, good. Thank you. It's really life and death."

"Well, that sounds serious."

"Oh it is."

He stopped in front of her, trying to play the part, stifling the glee he felt at her being here.

"Well… see, I don't know which of these seasons are better and I can only get one of the sets today. All of those Christmas presents I had to buy for the kids in the orphanage, you know."

He swallowed a choking sound and she sent him an amused look under the apparent Good Samaritan she was playing. "Wooow," he drawled. "You're a saint."

She bit the inside of her cheek, nearly breaking character. But she was way too good at this to actually break. Instead her eyes glinted in that way of hers. "Oh no. Please. It was the least I could do. After knitting sweaters for the squirrels in the yard to keep them warm, I was just so bored and needed something else to keep me busy, that's all."

Chuck ducked his head and pinched his nose shut, trying to smother the laugh that threatened. She really was such a massive dork and he absolutely loved it.

"So here's my quandary. I have this one, which is seasons one and two." She held up the boxset in her left hand. "And I have this one, which is seasons three, four, and five?" She lifted the other.

She cocked her hip and tilted her head, presenting both Twilight Zone boxsets for him to see, one on each side of her face. "I really can't decide."

Chuck allowed himself a moment to really look at her.

She was wearing a black leather jacket and black pants with those same heeled boots she wore to their first date. Her blond hair spilled over her shoulders in waves. And she was now holding Twilight Zone Blueray boxsets up with the intention of buying one of them. He'd never been so unapologetically attracted to another person ever in his entire twenty-six-plus years of existence.

He wanted to drop the game they were playing with each other and close the distance between them to wrap her up in his arms and hug her tightly. Really, he just wanted to feel her arms around him again. He'd discovered on Christmas, and on the day after Christmas, that Sarah Walker was really good at gathering him up in her embrace and holding onto him in a way that made everything else disappear.

And God, he could really use that today.

This had been the absolute worst New Year's Eve he could ever remember at the Buy More. And that was saying something, considering two New Year's Eves ago, a a man had been bitten by some other guy's pet snake they hadn't even seen him come in with because he'd smuggled it under his shirt. Paramedics had gotten involved and poison control, only for them to discover once the Humane Society sent someone to tell them it was just your average garden variety snake and not poisonous at all.

And somehow this year was still so much worse than that shitshow had been.

The customers were absolutely rabid all day, opening packages to "look at it" like there weren't pictures of every part of the product all over the box, yelling at green shirts and Nerd Herders alike, trying to freaking steal, and then the police officers who'd come to bust the guy who'd tried to steal had treated Chuck like shit as if they were also having the worst day ever. There was the kid whose mom wasn't paying attention to him while she flirted with another customer, and the resulting mess when he knocked over a CD tower by literally kicking it like a little jerk, probably to get his mom's attention because that whole situation seemsd dysfunctional to the nth degree. And somehow _Chuck_ had gotten the chewing out from the woman because little Benny could've gotten hurt.

On top of the hellish customers, Chuck's coworkers were even less on task than usual, and for a day that was bound to be one of their busiest days of the entire year, that was verging on catastrophic. There were customers being ignored, potential sales that could be made if everyone was doing their damn jobs. And instead there'd been some hot sauce competition between the green shirts and Nerd Herd in the home theater room. He'd had to bust it up, and he'd snatched a Del Taco packet too violently from Skip's hand and it had busted, squirting vibrant red Del Scorcho on his pristine white uniform shirt.

He'd had to take his fifteen minute early to try to scrub it off in the bathroom, and the stupid pinkish, wet spot was still there. He'd have to borrow Ellie's Oxy later or something to get it out, damn it.

Chuck Bartowski could use a massive hug. And an even more massive drink. But mostly the hug. Specifically from this extraordinary human standing in front of him, still holding the Twilight Zone boxsets.

"Definitely do three, four, and five," he answered instead of dropping the role-play and hugging her like she was a literal life line.

"Hmmm. I'm not sure I can just take your word for it. One and two are the first two seasons of the series and that feels like a big deal."

"That's fair. Very fair. I still say go with three, four, and five." He tapped it with his finger.

"Because there are better episodes in those seasons?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Eh," he shrugged, reaching up to scratch the back of his head, "the really great episodes are pretty well spaced out through all five seasons, but this has three seasons as opposed to two. And if you can only buy one today, buy the one with more episodes. The order you watch the episodes in doesn't matter." He shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets.

She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted.

"Mr. Bartowski!"

He grit his teeth, narrowing his eyes. Sarah sent a curious look behind him, leaning to the side a little. Doing his best to control his features, he let out a slow breath.

God damn it.

God damn it, he'd forgotten his shift overlapped a bit with the asshole's. God. Damn it. Would anyone judge him if he cried right now? If he just sat down right where he stood, flopped to the side and gave up for the day? People could just step over him while he curled into a ball and just cried in frustration for the next twenty-four hours.

"Yes, Harry?" he asked, turning his head just slightly.

"I'll take this customer. You are not a salesman. You're Nerd Herd. Just. Nerd. Herd."

Harry stepped up next to them and sent Sarah an unmistakable look. "I'm sorry this man is disturbing you, ma'am. We try to keep the nerds locked up in the cage in back with the computers they're supposed to be fixing. Like our very own little pocket-protector wearing Oompa Loompas. We try to keep the dweebs busy with tech repairs to keep them away from our...very lovely customers."

The sniveling piece of shit.

Sarah simply raised both eyebrows, apparently unsure of how to take the other man. Chuck wondered if Sarah was trying to decide whether or not Harry was joking, or if it was just that his existence was the joke.

A stain more like.

An awful stain.

"I've got this, Harry, thank you," he replied as calmly as he was able, a closed-mouth smile on his face, daggers of hate coming out of his eyes he was sure.

"There are piles of laptops that need your attention, Mr. Bartowski," the green shirt snipped. "You're just fine with machines. Leave the human interaction to me, hm? Now what can I help you with, ma'am?" He turned back to Sarah, smoothing his fingers down his shirt.

"Why don't you go shut your head in a Beastmaster and turn it on, 'kay? Thanks," Chuck cut in, tired of looking at the asshole. He was close to snapping…snapping this guy in half. Harry Tang would be the thing that would finally do it today. After everything, Harry Tang would be would pushed him over the edge.

They'd need ten people to pin him down.

Harry gawked. And for that matter, Sarah gave him a wide-eyed look as well.

"I could write you up for that, Bartowski," Harry growled, leaning in closer, the smell of Axe body spray wafting into Chuck's nostrils. That alone nearly pushed him over the edge.

"You and whose mom? The only person who can write me up is Big Mike and he's sound asleep in his office with half a sub still in his hand." That was true. It was where he'd found him when he'd walked in to ask him when he needed the Nerd Herd midday repairs numbers.

And Chuck imagined he had yet to budge from that spot in the hour or so since he'd entered Big Mike's office.

"I am acting manager and have the authority when Big Mike is indispos—"

"Like hell you do. He just told you that so you'd feel like a Special Boy and would leave him alone for two minutes so he could talk to his girlfriend on his office phone in private."

That was probably true, too.

Harry didn't seem to have a response to that, so he charged on past it. "Stick to your job, Bartowski."

"Stick to your own business, Tang."

"Big Mike will hear about this. Mark my words!" Harry sent him a vicious look and then stormed off.

"Oh gosh, I would mark them, Harry, if I actually cared," Chuck called after him.

"Screw you, Bartowski!"

"Okay, thaaaaaaanks," Chuck drawled loudly over his shoulder with utmost sarcasm.

When he turned back to Sarah, her eyes were still wide.

And then she smirked a little. "I have never seen you act that way towards anyone. Not even the Head Douche the night I met you."

"Because fuck Harry Tang, that's why. He's honestly...I'd call him Satan, but at least there's, like, some point to Satan's existence, you know? The whole being there to balance out good with evil thing? There's no point to Harry Tang's existence. At all." He shook his head, giving her a flat look.

"Is he always such a bitch?"

He didn't know if it was what she said, or the casual way she'd asked it, but he laughed hard. Very hard. He threw his head back, letting it out all out, almost a madness overtaking him after everything he'd been through during this shift from hell. And when he was finished, he lowered his head back down to beam at her. "Yes. He always is. And I seriously cannot get enough of you, Sarah Walker."

She gave him a look that made what he said feel very appreciated, but then she slipped a mask over that. "More important question: is he single?"

"Ugh! Don't even joke about that!" He made a face, making her giggle.

She stepped in closer and got up on her tiptoes for a kiss, the role-playing apparently over, but he pulled back a bit. "Ah ah! Wait, I'm, uh...I mean, I'm on the clock…so…" She just gave him a look and he huffed, shaking his head with an eye roll. "What the fuck am I doing? Who cares?" And he wrapped his arms around her torso and kissed her hard. It wasn't a long kiss by any means, but it sent a thrill of relief and joy through him anyway. And when he broke the kiss, he dove in to cling to her tightly, hugging her as if it was the last thing he'd ever do in his entire life.

Sarah didn't hug him back, the Bluray boxsets still clutched in her hands, held up on either side of her. "Wow. Hi," she said softly, her voice a bit breathless. Had it been the kiss? Or was he crushing her a little? He didn't care. He hugged her even tighter.

"Hi. God, I'm so glad you're here, Sarah. I think I might actually snap. Seriously. I don't know if I can take much more. I swear I'll spontaneously combust if one more customer asks me to find one of our products for them based on color of the product alone. If even _one more _person asks me if I can help them figure out what the grey thing is they saw in the store last week that was on sale…"

She shifted against him as though she was moving even closer to try to embrace him back in spite of the products in her hands, but before she could do that, yet another voice interrupted.

"Did you just kiss her? …_HER_? Jeff, did you just see what I saw? Am I stroking out?"

Chuck swore he was going to murder someone. He slowly turned to see Jeff and Lester staring, gaping at Chuck and Sarah standing there still pressed close together.

"More importantly," Jeff chimed in, "SHE kissed YOU?"

Chuck narrowed his eyes, then saw Lester was holding something. "Lester, is that a camcorder?"

"Uh. Maybe."

"Are you—Okay, nope. Gimme that." He let go of Sarah and stomped over to Lester. He snatched the camcorder before Lester could scamper away with it.

"Wha—Hey, no! No, I'm—Don't you want this for your grandkids sometime in the future? It's proof that you once kissed an extremely hot girl. Posterity! You will earn their respect!" Lester argued, trying to grab the camcorder back.

"You're a sick person, Lester. Sick." Chuck snapped the camcorder shut and shoved both Lester and Jeff away. "Get out of here! Maybe do your jobs? For once?"

They slumped away and he walked back with the camcorder, a look on his face that made Sarah laugh. "Do you see this? This is what I deal with day in and day out in this hellscape that is the Burbank Buy More. And they're like this on a day that isn't swarming with people because of a post-Christmas storewide sale, it just feels so much more grating on a busy freaking day like today."

"Yeah, there are a lot of people in here," she said, her hand landing on his arm. "Listen, I don't want to get you in trouble—"

"No, please. Please, I don't care about that. I'm the only reason this building hasn't literally exploded. I've got Big Mike in my pocket. And he's asleep in his office." He gave her a look that read c'est la vie.

"Okay. Well, um…" She bit her lip, looking at him with a tentative gaze, shifting her weight. He felt like maybe something was up, but before he could ask, she continued. "I was wondering when your shift is over today."

"Oh. Um…" He checked his watch. "Ugh, in an hour and a half." She sighed and looked off to the side thoughtfully. "Why? What's up?"

"Nothing. No, I'm just… Well, I'd like to talk to you…about something. That's all."

About thirteen worst case scenarios flashed through his mind and it must have shown in his face because she immediately tangled her fists in his shirt flirtatiously and pulled his gaze to hers.

"Hey, it's not that serious. Chill."

She wasn't breaking up with him, was she? Was he in some kind of trouble for something? Did he do something? "We're still...gonna be dating after this thing you have to talk to me about, right?" he couldn't help asking.

Sarah furrowed her brow and shook her head, grabbing his tie in one hand and giving it a tug. "I told you to chill. I'm not breaking up with you."

Relief spilled through him. "Oh, good. Good, okay. Sorry. I'm just… That reaction Jeff and Lester had to seeing me with you? As annoying as they are, it's a pretty accurate (but a lot creepier) version of what happens in my head sometimes when I'm with you."

"Don't," she said steadily, letting his tie fall back to his chest and smoothing her hand down it. "You're an incredible man, Chuck Bartowski. Run that through your head for a change."

"I'll try," he said, feeling his insides warm up. "And I'm sorry I can't just say peace out to this bullshit shift and go with you right now. As much as I talk about how much I hate this place, I take my job here seriously. And I can't just skip out on the rest of my shift. As much as I'd like to run outta here and never look back. It has been a DAY, Sarah. Worst one I can remember, honestly."

She gave him a sympathetic pout and rose onto her tiptoes to peck him on the lips. "I admire you for that. You should know. And it's okay, I can wait for you."

"In here?" He shook his head vehemently. "Sarah, you'll lose your mind. It'll send you over the edge. I'm serious. Don't do this to yourself. I'm not worth it."

Laughing, she shook her head. "So melodramatic. I'm starting to think you're worth just about anything, first of all…" He wasn't expecting that, and he found himself brimming with light as he watched her. She blushed a little and he brimmed even brighter. "But there's also a whole shopping center out there. Coffee places and frozen yogurt. I saw a bookstore, I think. There's plenty for me to do. I'll just come back at four-thirty."

There was something underneath the air of nonchalance she was projecting, something indiscernible. He wasn't sure what it was but it made him wonder just what was in store for him at four-thirty.

She gave him another kiss, teased him with a valiant, "Stay strong", and swept out of the store, leaving him gaping after her, feeling two parts the luckiest man alive and one part concerned about what was bothering her.

}o{

Chuck slammed his locker shut and hurried out of the break room still putting his Buy More jacket on over his Nerd Herd uniform. He spotted Sarah at the register a few moments later as he wandered about the store looking for her.

Sidling up next to her, he peeked down at the counter as Fernando scanned the Twilight Zone boxsets. "You're getting both? You don't have to do that. I can just give you the password to my cable account and you can watch it all for free."

"No, I wanted to own them. This way I can watch whatever I want when I want." She leaned in towards Fernando who blushed vibrantly. "Make sure you give this sale to Chuck. He was _very_ helpful." She turned to wink at Chuck flirtatiously.

As Fernando nodded and fixed his glasses, Chuck snorted. She was really playing this up, wasn't she? Good. As long as it wasn't him doing it, she could do whatever the hell she wanted. Let them gawk.

He reached over and grabbed the Blurays for her, handing her the receipt he took from Fernando's grasp. "Thanks, Fernando!"

Sarah slipped her hand into his as they walked out of the store, smiling up at him. "How was the rest of your shift?"

"Not as bad as before you showed up. I think your appearance somehow blessed the rest of my shift."

She giggled. "If only I'd appeared earlier."

"That's what _I'm _sayin'," he teased. "Maybe you can just come to my work every time I have a shift? That'd be super great."

She gave him a look that was a clear no.

"Hey, um…" She turned to him as they got outside, stopping and pulling him out of the way of shoppers. "My car's just right there. Do you mind if we both take my car now? I'll drive you back here to get yours later. If that's okay." She nibbled on her lip.

"Nah, not at all. That's fine."

Smiling, she took his hand again and they strolled to her Porsche. It was a development he was fine with, this hand holding thing. They got in, and they were off. He didn't know where they were going. But he didn't much care, either. His shitty day had done a full one-eighty when she'd shown up.

And even though he was nervous about this "talk" of theirs, he felt really good. This felt really good. Being with a woman who was even a third as great as she was would've felt really good, he thought, so being with her was… Well, he thought his joy might be incalculable.

They were silent as she pulled onto the freeway, and silent still ten minutes later as she maneuvered through traffic in a way that made him feel a little bit like he was on a rollercoaster.

"So this is...how you drive then, huh?" he finally asked, his voice coming out in a squeak.

"Yeah." She glanced at him with a furrowed brow, then put her eyes back on the road again thankfully. "Somethin' wrong with it?"

"Uuuuuuhhhh no. Nope."

The dubious look she sent him told him she saw right through him. _Woops._

He thought a handful of times that he might as well ask her what was up, not knowing where they were going or how long it would take to get there. But he thought the fact that she hadn't brought it up yet meant she was waiting to talk about it. Waiting for something… He didn't know what. They were alone here, after all. Then again, with the way she drove, maybe multitasking would be a bad idea.

As they got off of the freeway near Malibu a half hour or so later, the build-up of his curiosity got the better of him, and he just had to speak up.

"So what is this? What do you need to talk with me about, Sarah? Did something happen? Am I, um, in trouble or something? Or is it…?" He swallowed, not knowing how to finish the question.

"It isn't that simple. It's nothing you did, though. It's something with me. And it's kind of...big. And when I tell you, I don't really want to chance you jumping out of the moving car," she muttered the last part under her breath but he still heard it.

"Wait, what?"

"Nothing. We'll talk in a few minutes. I just have to...figure out what to say, that's all."

"Oh." He swallowed again. "Well...Well, listen. Whatever it is, I hope you know I won't judge or anything. I'm a good listener. And I'm here. I'm here for you."

"I know, Chuck." She reached over and put her hand on his thigh, squeezing. "Thank you."

He saw some doubt in her face. It was unmistakable. And she slid her mask over it, keeping her eyes on the road. But he knew he'd seen it right. Did she doubt him? Or herself? What exactly was this?

They finally pulled into a small, empty parking lot. Strange, he thought, that a public beach in Malibu would be empty on New Year's Eve. Maybe she knew this beach and she knew it'd be empty and that was why she'd picked it.

And then he thought of that movie _So I Married An Axe Murderer _and he decided to maybe calm it down with the overactive imagination.

"The beach, huh?"

"Yeah, the beach." She smiled a little, getting out of the car. He followed suit and watched her over the roof of the car. "When I first got to LA, I had a day off and just jumped in my car, driving around greater Los Angeles, I mean…all over the place. I just wanted some space, some peace, for thinking and whatever." She led him down towards the sand, then grabbed his hand and held on tight so she didn't fall over while she tugged her boots off. "I found this beach and it didn't have many people on it. I've come back a handful of times over the last month or so. It's peaceful, ya know?" He nodded but she couldn't see it and she kept talking. It was almost as if her feet had touched the sand and the walls had come down, her words coming out unbridled, the thoughts she had in her head unleashed. "It's comforting, the ocean. I've sort of figured out that it's almost like an old friend you can always rely on. Because no matter who you are, what you are, what you've done, the waves still come up to greet you. There's no judgment, it's just here all the time. It's nice, I guess."

"It's kind of perfect," he said quietly, watching her with every bit of warmth he was capable of as she tucked her boots under her arm. He decided untying his sneakers and tugging them and his socks off was too much work, so he just walked through the sand wearing them, knowing it'd be uncomfortable later and not caring much.

He just wanted to know what all of this was about. She seemed tense, and introspective. He wasn't used to seeing her like this.

They finally plopped down in the sand, sitting shoulder to shoulder, and he allowed a peaceful silence to wash over them, focusing on the sound of the waves, the breeze, birds calling out as the sun lowered towards the horizon in front of them.

Finally, he decided he needed to to maybe prompt her, get this going.

"Sarah, are you okay?" he asked, turning to watch her, the way the breeze picked up the strands of hair around her face and played with them, the sun shining on her indescribably beautiful features.

She sighed and turned to smile at him. "Yeah. Chuck, I think I finally...might be okay. Or at least, I will be. Or maybe I'm okay now and I'll be even better later. When I figure this all out and can settle into a real life."

"A real life?" he asked, curious as to what that meant. Was she not living a real life now? Was this a fake life?

Sarah took a deep breath, shutting her eyes. She kept them shut as she reached out and blindly felt for his hand. He made it easier for her by grabbing her hand out of the air and hanging on tight. "I'm going to tell you a whole lot right now and I don't know what it's going to mean for…us. For you. For me. Both of us together, maybe."

He felt nerves prickle at the back of his neck, making his chest ache a little. "Sarah, tell me. It's okay."

Swallowing, she nodded and opened her eyes. "First, I need you to understand that this is no small thing. I'm not sure I'm even allowed to tell you. Not that _I_ don't…trust you. I do. _They_ probably don't, though. And I've struggled over it because...you're important to me. Your safety is important to me, Chuck."

He smiled warmly, but then what she said registered and he paused. "Wait...my safety?"

Raising an eyebrow, she nodded slowly. What was going on here?

"Chuck, remember how I told you that I am in government work? Traveling around all the time, unable to settle down or make friends, or-or date?"

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

"It's a bit more complicated than that. Er, more intense…I should say."

He tried really hard not to react to that, focusing on just listening to her, being as receptive and open as possible.

"Chuck, I'm a spy. I'm an agent in CIA."

He heard it.

Chuck Bartowski definitely just heard his girlfriend of only a few days say she was a spy in the CIA. Loud and clear.

But his brain was having a hard time absorbing it. So he just sat there, his knees pulled up to his chest, staring at her blankly. "You're... I'm sorry. What?"

She took a deep breath and looked him squarely in the face. "I'm a spy. A CIA agent. At least, technically I still am, but I've been sort of benched for right now. Overseeing analysts at the LA branch of the agency. It's why I'm here in LA, instead of on another mission somewhere on the other side of the world."

"Mi-Mission?" He blinked. Was this for real? "Are you—Are you, uh, pulling my leg?"

"No," she said, her face set in sincerity. "I work for the CIA, Chuck. I've been in the agency for almost a decade. They recruited me out of high school and I...never looked back." She huffed, a slight grimace on her face. "That's not exactly true, is it? I did look back. A lot. But I always just figured it was too late. I'd made my bed and I had no choice but to lie in it."

Chuck wasn't even sure how to react. He was in shock. He was confused. He was totally and utterly unprepared to deal with this news. And he wasn't fully absorbing it, even. "I'm… You were recruited by the CIA while you were still in-in high school? What's—I mean, that's straight out of a movie or something. How'd you get into the CIA when you were in high school?"

"It's...a long story."

"You just told me you're CIA, Sarah." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Um. Right. Yeah." She cleared her throat. "I guess I'll just…give it to you straight. I've gone this far already. My dad got into some trouble with the...with the law. He was arrested. And before I could do anything to try to help him, the CIA found me and they... I had special talents that they thought would transition well into being a CIA agent, I guess you could say." He raised his eyebrows at her but she didn't see it, staring out at the sea. "Well, they gave me two choices. I could join the CIA and they'd make sure my dad was safe, or I could _not_ join the CIA and he'd go to prison and maybe be killed there."

Chuck just stared. Was she really not just fooling him for fun? Did she have some sort of sick sense of humor? That would make more sense than what she was telling him being the truth.

"I know. It sounds farcical. But I'm not lying to you, Chuck. This isn't—It isn't something I've told anyone before and I'm most likely not supposed to be telling you, either…and-and I'm probably not even doing a good job of explaining it for that matter. But I have to tell you. I can't be with you and not tell you who I am. What I am. I just can't do it."

She let out a shaky breath and shook her head, looking out at the water.

"This is real, what we have. And it's _so good_. And I want it. I want you. But I can't have you, I refuse to allow myself to have you, if I'm keeping something this big from you. It isn't fair or right." She sighed. "I don't want to lie to you. More than I already have."

Chuck flicked his tongue out to wet his lips and let out a flabbergasted huff, gaping down at the sand in front of them. "This isn't...what I was expecting…"

"I know. You thought I was breaking up with you. I'm not sure if this is worse or better…" She winced and rubbed her hands up and down her legs that she'd crossed in front of her.

He turned to look at her, watching the dread in her face, and as much as he was still trying to figure out what in the hell this was, as confused as he still was, as in shock as he was, he decided he didn't want that dread to be on her face, or in her heart. He could at least do something about that.

Chuck reached over and took her hand, holding onto it tightly, meaningfully. She looked down at their hands wrapped together, then up at him with a thread of hope in her blue eyes.

"I'm one hundred percent good saying that this—as nuts as it is and as much as I'm still sort of not sure how to react to or deal with it—this is so much better than if you brought me here to break up with me, Sarah."

In spite of everything, that made her smile at him, a big smile, and she squeezed his hand back.

And he realized in that moment that he was in love with her.

He was in love with a spy.

Holy shit.

"So you're...okay with this?"

"I'm still trying to figure it out," he admitted, shaking his head. "I mean, holy shit, Sarah. A spy? Like Emma Peel? Like Charlie's Angels? Like… La Femme Nikita? Like…"

"Okay, you don't have to keep going." She put a cool, gentle hand on his jaw and forced him to look at her, sliding it up to cup his cheek. "What I do is nothing like what they put in movies or TV shows. It's real and sometimes it...can be terrible, violent. I won't lie to you." She swallowed hard, but kept her gaze on his. He could see the haunted look in her face, and he knew immediately that there were things in her past, things she wouldn't tell him. At least not today. Maybe some day she would. "And sometimes it's just...a lot of paperwork."

"I'm just…" He shook his head and let out a long breath. "This was maybe the last thing I expected you to say to me, Sarah. Seriously. I was not expecting my girlfriend to take me out to this empty beach and tell me that she's a spy with the CIA. That's...that's some Hollywood shit, Sarah. It really is."

"I know. And I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you about this before, but this is a dangerous existence. It's extremely…volatile. And… Well, I've been keeping secrets and lying and hiding in the shadows for my whole life, really. There are a lot of people out there who would love to find me and kill me because of the things I was ordered to do by my superiors."

What she'd said earlier came back to him as he squeezed her hand supportively, all of this sending serious chills through him. "You said they gave you a choice when they found you, after your dad—after he ended up in prison." She nodded quietly. "Isn't that technically blackmail? The CIA blackmailed you to make you become a spy?"

She shrugged. "I don't really see it that way. They made sure my dad was protected in prison from dudes who would've loved to see the guy that conned 'em dead, and then they got him out early. And I suppose I just got so deep into it that...even though my debt was finally paid off I guess…" She sighed. "The only way for me to say this is that I've done things I'm not proud of, Chuck. If I told you about some of it, you'd really hate me. I swear you would. You'd run in the opposite direction screaming." She let out a mirthless laugh and pulled her hand from his, pushing her fingers through her hair and letting out a frustrated groan. He could see her eyes getting wetter, and she blinked rapidly to stave it off.

He frowned, then set a hand on her leg right above her knee. "I can't believe you're a spy. I can't believe my girlfriend is a spy. This is...seriously...just...bonkers. I mean, I'm...I don't even know what." He took a deep breath. "But you need to know there isn't anything I can think of that you might've done, whatever it is, however…violent… that would make me not wanna be with you."

She shut her eyes tightly and winced. "Even if I'd killed people…?" There was a long pause and he felt a little cold. "A lot of people. Enough people."

He shivered. That was a bleak and honestly terrifying thought. And then again, at the same time, he was eerily calm about it. He didn't know why when he only knew this woman for a few weeks he had this sense that he knew her. He knew what was inside of her. He'd seen it enough by now. Even that first night when she'd been buzzed at his bar. And that thought led him to remember the way she'd threatened the Head Douche and his friends. That threat had been real. She really could've most likely kicked all of their asses. She was a spy. _A fucking spy!_

"Even then," he said, looking at her seriously, determination in his face. "This is crazy, Sarah. It's nuts. I still don't even know what to say. You're a spy! That's just… What the fuck?" He shook himself a little. "But that doesn't make you any less the person I've gotten to know. I mean, you—" He halted as something occurred to him. "Wait. You're a spy. You're with the CIA." She raised her eyebrows and ducked her chin, waiting to see what he was putting together in his head. "Am I a mark? Did you come into my bar for me? Am I going to prison? Are they gonna drop me in some underground bunker because I'm distantly related to a crime boss in...in Poland or something?"

"Whoa...whoa, Chuck. Okay...you're spiralling." He felt like something was crushing his chest. He was having a hard time breathing. Sarah's face was right there in front of him, her cool hands cupping his cheeks. "Take some deep breaths. You're okay. I'm not in Los Angeles for you, Chuck. That isn't why I came here. It's like I said. I was benched and sent here to oversee the analysts at our LA branch. I walked into that bar that night because I needed to get drunk, just like I told you. I wasn't lying about that, Chuck. I...I didn't lie about anything I said to you that night. Or really...any of the nights after. I'm not here for you," she emphasized. "But I do plan...to _stay_ here. And that might be in big part for _you_."

Chuck could breathe again. It had all hit him at once. And she was right, he'd spiraled. "Oh my God," he panted. "My girlfriend is a spy." He blinked and then looked up at her. She was still cupping his face, looking a little concerned, her blue eyes wide. "My girlfriend...is a SPY!"

"Shh!"

"Sorry!" he hissed, clamping a hand over his mouth. At least she looked a little amused. He crawled up onto his knees in front of her then, pulling her up onto her knees with him, and he clutched onto her shoulders, shaking his head in awe. "Oh my God, you're a CIA agent. Does that mean...are you...are you a secret agent?"

"Yes," she said, shrugging a bit.

"So, like….super top secret shit."

"Sometimes. There are things I've done that other agencies in our ally countries weren't supposed to know we were involved in. Sure, they probably suspect or even know, but I've always been really good about covering my tracks."

He bit his lip and let out a strangled sound. "Oh my God, I know this is serious. I'm taking it really seriously, I promise, but oh my God, that's so hot. You are so hot. I thought you were hot before but this is an extra layer of dangerous hot and I should probably be a little intimidated, but I'm not, I'm just _extra_ into you. This is so insane."

Sarah's eyes widened as he rambled, and then she sniffed in amusement and shook her head. "I thought you'd be afraid of me. Or...angry. I meant it when I said I'm a mess, Chuck. I'm a big, big mess. Even now that you know about this, about what I do, who I am, you don't know the half of it. I'm not a normal girl and that's-that's why I've fumbled through all of this so far. With you. The friendship part and-and the more than friendship part. The romantic part. I don't...get to make human connections in this job. It isn't...safe."

He nodded, then nibbled on his lip thoughtfully. "So...what was so different about me? You let yourself connect with me."

She sighed. "You're special, I guess. And there's also the fact that I-I've never felt this safe or comfortable with anyone else. I've never cared about anybody this much. And to top it all off, before I met you, when I first got sent here to sit at a desk, pulled from the field, I was considering a big life change. A big move. I got… I've gotten burned, Chuck. By the CIA, by the spy life. Seriously burned. And I've been disillusioned for a while, but never felt like I could shake it out here, living amongst real people, connecting with people, not always slinking around in the shadows, hiding behind lies and other names and faces. I still don't really know if I can handle an existence without my superiors telling me what my every move needs to be. I'm not really sure I can exist in the sunlight." Chuck frowned and stroked his fingers over her face. "I'm starting to think I might be able to, though. And you've been helping a lot with that. More than you could possibly know. I've wanted a normal life for a few years now, one away from the spy life. And I'm ready to take that step."

"Bad timing," he breathed, and she tilted her head in curiosity. "You told me this—us—was bad timing. That you met me in a time of transition. This is what you meant. That you're thinking about leaving the CIA."

She nodded. "But I'm not thinking about it anymore, Chuck. I'm doing it. I wanted to, especially after this last...Well." She shook her head, obviously deciding not to give him the details there. "But I didn't think I deserved it. You're making me believe that maybe I...still can. Maybe I can deserve a real life. I want to."

Chuck did away with pretense and leaned in, wrapping her up in his arms and hugging her close. She froze for a moment, obviously not expecting it, and then her arms were around him too. She hugged him so tightly he felt something pop in his shoulders, but he didn't dare say anything. He just let her cling as hard as she needed to, and for as long as she needed to.

"Quite a way to start your New Year, Sarah Walker."

She giggled at that, hugging him tighter, turning her face into his hair. But as her name came out of his mouth, he realized something. "Wait, wait. Your name. Sarah Walker…" She pulled back a little, their faces close. He licked his lips. "That's not your real name, is it?"

She pressed her lips together and shrugged. "Technically, it isn't the name that was on my birth certificate. But that hasn't been my name for a long, long time, Chuck. My real name is Sarah Walker. Now. It's official. It's on my dossier, on my badge, all the legal documents I sign. It's on my apartment's lease, I bought my car with it. And if I ever buy a house someday...I'll sign the name Sarah Walker on that, too."

"Wow. That's...that's so strange." He shook his head. "I can't imagine…"

"It's just how it always was for me. And it was okay because I didn't know it any other way." She shrugged. "I am Sarah Walker. I want...I want you to know me that way. Because it's… it's the name I feel. If that makes sense."

"It does. Absolutely."

She took a deep breath then, fondly playing with a curl at the top of his head. It made him shiver and he pulled her a little closer. "So...just so I'm clear on this. You know I'm a spy, that I'm going to leave the CIA when I can transition out of it properly and logically, however long that takes, that I've done bad things for the CIA…" She flicked her gaze away at that, and he wondered at the depth of that statement. Bad things. What exactly did she mean by that? "And you still...want me? Want to be with me?"

"Yes," he answered simply. "I'm not all the way calm about all of this by any means. I'm still in shock. And I'm...still trying to wrap my head around it. But I want you… Agent Walker? Can I call you that?"

"Uh...I guess." She didn't seem to know how to take that. "Not in public. Obviously."

"Oh, no, it's definitely only going to be reserved for private moments. Very, very private moments," he drawled, giving her a bit of a goofy smolder.

She laughed and smacked his shoulder. "Stop it. I seriously...I was terrified this would be it. That you'd be… I don't know, that this was going to end. That you didn't want to see me again."

"What was it you said at the Buy More earlier? Ah, yes." He leaned in close, making sure she was looking right into his eyes when he said it. "I'm starting to think you're worth just about anything."

She beamed at him and slipped her hand over the back of his neck, pulling him in for a long kiss. He felt that extra thrill in the kiss, the spike of adrenaline in his system, the desire pooling in his lower stomach.

They pulled back, their foreheads and noses still touching, and he bit his lip. "My girlfriend is a super spy."

"Super?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not one of your comic book heroes."

"No, you're better. Because you're flesh and blood and so viscerally real and human and yes, very messy. Just like I'm messy," he added before she could potentially take offense. "We're messes together, except that you're a mess who could definitely fight your way out of a room full of bad guys with a blindfold on and I definitely would just curl into a ball. The point is, I'm crazy about you. You, Sarah. Not the non-spy I thought you were. Not the spy you actually are. But you. Plain ol' you. The woman who closed up the bar with me, spent Christmas with me, bought coffee cake from the store, freaked out over the ending of a Twilight Zone episode, and gave me the best God damn night of my entire life."

She let out a rough breath and shut her eyes tightly. "God, I'm crazy about you too, Chuck. You make me feel like a person. For the first time in my life, I feel like a real life person." And when she opened her eyes again, he saw what he was feeling reflected in her crackling blue eyes. "Do you think my car is...private enough...for you to do that Agent Walker stuff?"

A fuse was blown somewhere in his brain and he nearly malfunctioned. But he kept control enough to let out a tiny gasp and let out a tight, "Definitely", before she grabbed his hand and yanked him up to his feet with her.

They sprinted back to her Porsche like their lives depended on it, and even with the lust pouring through his brain, he realized Sarah was the only one out of the two of them who actually knew what that really felt like.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, that's that. Thanks so much, again. I'm not going anywhere. My other stories are still continuing. But please review, send me PMs, get in contact with me. I welcome that. I'll catch y'all on the flip side.

-SC


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